Slips  for  Librarians   to  paste    on    Cata 
logue  Cards. 

N.  B. — Take  out  carefully,  leaving  about  quarter  of  an 
inch  at  the  back.  To  do  otherwise  would,  in  some  cases, 
release  other  leaves. 


WEEKS,  ROBERT  K.  Poems.  New 
York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1880.  Sq.  121110, 
pp.  viii.  303. 


POEMS.  By  Robert  K.  Weeks.  New  York: 
Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1880.  Sq.  12010,  pp.  viii. 
3°3- 


POETRY.  Poems.  By  Robert  K.  Weeks, 
New  York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  1880.  Sq. 
121110,  pp.  viii.  303. 


POEMS 


ROBERT     K.     WEEKS 


NEW   YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1881 


1  .J0494 


Copyright, 

1880, 
By  E.  C.  WEEKS. 


"PS 
1-51 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

This  volume  consists  of  pieces  from  the  au 
thor's  first  two  volumes  selected  and  materially 
revised  by  him,  and  of  the  entire  contents  of  a 
third  volume  published  posthumously. 

The  expressions  printed  below  will  have  a 
value  for  those  in  sympathy  with  his  work,  and 
may  attract  the  attention  of  some  who  will  be 
glad  to  join  the  number. 

From  a  review  of  "Twenty  Poems"  by  Mr.  R.  H. 
Stoddard,  in  Scribnet's  Monthly  for  January,  iSjj. 

"  Accomplished  versifiers  come  and  go,  but  the  corning 
poet  cometh  not.  He  might,  and  perhaps  would,  have 
come  at  last  in  the  person  of  Robert  Kelley  Weeks,  whose 
eyes  opened  on  another  morn  than  ours,  when  the 
roses  of  June  were  last  blooming.  He  died  at  the 
aje  of  thirty-six,  leaving  three  small  volumes  of  poetry, 
th2  last  being  the  posthumous  one  now  before  us. 
We  remember  his  modest  advent  ten  years  since,  and  the 
hope  and  fear  with  which  we  regarded  his  work  and  his 
career.  That  he  was  a  poet  was  as  certain  to  our  minds 
as  that  a  violet  was  a  violet.  The  indefinable  something 
which  distinguishes  poetry  from  verse,  and  which  is  best 
indicated  by  the  word  quality,  was  evident  in  his  produc 
tions.  His  conceptions  were  airy  and  tender,  and  his  ex 
ecution  was  restrained  and  graceful.  There  was  no  trick 
in  his  art,  and  no  mannerism  ;  and  it  was  noticeably  free 
from  imitation.  Interpenetrated  by  pensive  sentiment,  it 
was  not  in  the  least  sentimental;  and  its  occasional  sadness 
was  not  the  sadness  of  one  whom  Melancholy  had  marked 
for  her  own.  It  was  at  most  the  shadow  of  a  serious  mood. 

Mr.  Weeks  was  born  September  21,  1840,  and  died  April  13,  1876. 


iv  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

What  separated  it  from  other  juvenile  verse  of  the  period 
was  that  the  writer  had  nothing  to  unlearn.  His  sense  of 
power  was  correct,  and  his  knowledge  of  measures  mature. 
Such  were  the  impressions  which  we  derived  from  his  first 
venture,  and  which  augured  well  for  his  second.  What 
we  apprehended  was  that  the  second,  when  it  came, 
might  not  show  that  he  had  grown  as  he  should  have  done, 
in  view  of  his  fine  natural  gifts  and  his  careful  scholarship: 
in  other  words,  that  it  might  be  a  promise  rather  than  a 
performance.  It  came  four  years  later,  and  dissipated  our 
apprehension.  The  touch  of  the  poet — at  first  a  little 
faint  and  uncertain — had  grown  clear  and  firm,  and  the 
one  test  which  so  fc\-  poets  can  stand — the  ability  to  write 
blank  verse — had  been  met  and  overcome.  Mr.  -Weeks' 
blank  verse  was  masterly  and  original.  Another  test  which 
few  poets  can  stand — the  ability  to  write  sonnets — had 
also  been  met  and  overcome.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
of  his  proficiency  in  the  technicalities  of  the  poetic  art. 
This  of  itself  was  a  great  merit,  but  not  so  great  a  merit  as 
the  gift  which  accompanied  it  —  the  art  of  hiding  art. 
The  growth  of  Mr.  Weeks  was  positive,  and  in  the  right 
direction.  He  had  grown  out  of  himself  and  his  own  fan 
cies  into  the  world  of  objective  art,  for  he  had  learned  to 
tell  a  story.  *  *  *  We  have  not  to  read  far  before  we 
say  to  ourselves  :  this  man  has  looked  upon  nature  through 
his  own  eyes,  and  not  through  the  spectacles  of  books.  * 
*  The  last  of  Mr.  Weeks'  "  Twenty  Poems  "—a  brief 
little  ballad  entitled  "  Lexington  " — is  the  one  that  we 
should  select  as  the  truest  measure  of  what  his  powers 
would  perhaps  have  been  if  he  had  not  been  cut  off  in  his 
early  prime.  If  any  battle-field  of  Revolutionary  fame  has 
given  rise  to  better  writing  than  that,  we  have  yet  to  see 
it.  That,  if  nothing  else,  has  placed  Mr.  Weeks  perma 
nently  among  the  poets  of  America." 

From  a  review  of  "Twenty  Poems"  by   Mr.   W.    D. 
Howells,  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  January,  2877. 

"  The  genuine  poetic  quality  of  Mr.   Weeks   we  were 
prompt  to   acknowledge  in  a  notice  of  his   first  volume, 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y  NO  TE.  v 

printed  some  five  years  ago.     This  quality  there  asserted 
itself  in  spite  of  the  strong  infusion  of  1  ennyson   and  gave 
us  hopes  of  something  more  distinctly  good  from  the  author 
-hones  which  the  present  volume,  but  for  the  poet  s  un 
timely  death,  must  strongly  encourage      Because  it  is  the 
last  of  his  work,  it  is  an  achievement  the  more  interesting 
and  sympathetic  criticism  will  find  it  full  of  ^e  pathos  of 
arrested  processes  and  intentions.     The  poet  has  pass 
beyond  the  imitative  stage,  and  for  good  or  ill,  whatever 
is  here  is  his.     Whether  he  would  have  given  us  hereafter 
something  of  stronger  clutch  is  a  question  which  can  novv 
never  be  settled,  but  that  he  could  have  given  us  poems 
"ncreasiiMy  lovely,  with  clear,  original  thought  and  direc- 
increabiuniy  j, j_uf      *     *    *     More  than  in 


a  loss  to  literature." 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

ON  THE  RIVER,           .             .             .  .3 

ON  THE  BRIDGE,  ....  5 

AFTER  TWILIGHT,       .            .            .  .7 

ANADYOMENE,       ....  9 

URANIA,          .             .             .             .  .11 

THE  QUIET  MOON,            .             .             .  12 

A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,        .  13 
IN  SEPTEMBER,      .             .             .             .19 

A  SUNSET  IN  NOVEMBER,       .             .  .20 

A  CLOUDY  DAY,    ....  23 

BEFORE  THE  SNOW,     .             .             .  .     25 

A  SNOW  SHOWER  IN  APRIL,           .             .  26 

AN  OLD  PLAY,             .             .             .  .     27 

SONG,         .....  32 

LOVE'S  INCAPACITY,    .             .             .  -33 

ON  THE  SHORE,     ....  34 


viii  CONTENTS. 

A  HILL-TOP,  .            .            .            •  •     35 

A  CLIMBER,           ....  36 

ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE,           .            .  .41 


BALLADS. 

How  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN,  .            .107 

GUDRUN,    .                 .                 .                 .  .125 

A  SONG  FOR  LEXINGTON,        .  .            .165 

WITH  MEN  AND  WOMEN. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PARIS,         .  .            .171 

SONG,                   .           .           .  '        .        178 


KING             ,            .            .  .            -179 

IN  CORINTH,         .            .            .  jgj 

MEDUSA,                     .            .  .            .  J90 

A  WINTER  EVENING,        .            .  .192 

SHADOWS,       .            .            .  .  •             I97 

A  CHANGE,            .            .            .  .198 

THE  NEW  NARCISSUS,         '  .  .            .  2oo 

PILGRIMAGE,         ...  201 

HER  NAME,    ...  t  206 

GREENHOUSE  FLOWERS,    .            .  .        -207 
IN  NUBIUS,    .....  209 


CONTENTS.  \y 

AUTUMN  SONG,  .            .            .            .212 

SPRING  SONG,  .  .           .           .           .213 

THE  MORAL,  .            .   '        .            .         215 

THE  END,       .  .    •        .            .            .216 

WITH  NATURE. 

VITA  VITALIS,  .  .  .  .219 

A  DAY,  .....  224 
IN  MAY,  .....  229 
MOONLIGHT  IN  MAY,  .  .  .231 

IN  THE  MEADOW,  ....  232 
BY  THE  LAKE,  ....  233 
BY  THE  BAY,  .....  234 
THE  MIST,  ....  235 

KARA  Avis,  .....  238 
THE  KATYDID,  ....  239 
A  VINE,  .  .  .  .  .241 

ON  THE  BEACH,  ....  242 
A  GLIMPSE  OF  LIFE,  ....  243 
MAN  AND  NATURE,  .  .  .  244 

CALM  AND  COLD,  ....  246 
WINTER  SUNRISE,  .  .  .  247 

WINTER  SUNSET,  ....  248 
BY  THE  FIRESIDE,  .  .  .  249 


x  CONTENTS, 

THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE,         .  .  -250 

MY  PLACE,  ....         252 

EARLY  POEMS. 

A  SUNSET,  ....         269 

A  RAINY  DAY,  ....  270 

AN  EARLY  SPRING,  •          .  .  .271 

BY  THE  BROOK,  ....  273 
BETWEEN  THE  SUNSET  AND  THE  MOON,  .  274 
A  WINTER  AFTERNOON,  .  .  .  275 

THE  LOST  MOON,  .  .  .         276 

PURSUING,      .  .  .  .  -277 

FROM  BELOW,       .  .  .  .278 

ABSENCE,        .  .  .  .  .  280 

PROTESILAUS,  ....  282 
MARGARET,  .  .  .  .  .287 

MADONNA,  ....         290 

MOONLIGHT,  .....  292 
AT  SEA,  .....  294 
THE  GOOD  PURSUIT,  ....  300 
A  ROSE,  .....  302 


POEMS. 

« — 

ON   THE    RIVER. 

ETWEE N  green  fields  and  wooded  heights 

The  river  stretched  at  ease ; 
The  starry  points,  the  dazzling  lights 
Struck  from  it  by  the  breeze ; 

The  wavering  smoke,  that  floats,  that  trails, 

The  rippling  flags  that  fly, 
The  glistening  prows,  the  sunny  sails 

Of  boats  that  pass  me  by ; 

The  gulls  that  flying  here  and  there 

Now  darken  and  now  gleam  ; 
The  clouds  that  melt  upon  the  air, 

Like  snow  on  some  slow  stream; 


ON  THE  RIVER. 

Awhile  I  watch  them  dreamily, 
And  then  I  hear  once  more 

The  winds  that  search  infinity, 
The  waves  that  beat  the  shore. 


ON  THE   BRIDGE. 


the  mysterious  lights  that  seem 
To  lure  it  with  a  smile, 
Green  between  greener  fields  the  stream 
Winds  westward  many  a  mile  ; 

The  west  wind  with  a  lingering  hold, 

Voluptuously  grave, 
Stays  every  hollow,  touched  with  gold, 

Of  every  little  wave  ; 

The  light  oars  dip  and  drip  and  shine, 

The  river  grasses  sway, 
The  foam-bells  in  a  glimmering  line 

Mingle  and  melt  away  ; 


ON  THE  BRIDGE. 

Athwart  the  sunset,  flying  low, 
Through  light  from  dark  to  dark, 

A  few  belated  swallows  show 

Like  whirling  leaves ;  and  hark! — 

'Tis  but  the  cricket's  earthy  song, 

The  wind's,  the  water's  sigh, 
That  mingling  deepen  and  prolong 
"  The  silence  of  the  sky. 


AFTER   TWILIGHT. 

i. 
STRAIGHT  from  the  golden  west  serene 

It  seemed  to  come,  the  restless  breeze, 
That  bent,  that  lifted,  ill  at  ease, 
The  massy  foliage,  darkly  green, 
Of  June's  voluptuous  apple-trees ; 

2. 

Like  great  uneven  waves  they  seemed, 
Forever  breaking  with  a  sigh 
'Gainst  that  unclouded  solemn  sky, 
Whose  mingling  hues  so  softly  gleamed, 
So  silently  began  to  die. 


AFTER  TWILIGHT. 

3- 

The  mellow  gold,  the  tender  green, 
Slow  dying,  died  away  at  last, 
Once  more  the  sky  but  as  a  vast 
Unquestionable  vault  was  seen, 
Its  gentler  influence  overpast. 

4- 

But  still  the  western  breezes  blow, 
And  still  the  tree-tops  sway  and  sigh ; 
All  night  I  hear  them  where  I  lie, 
Weird  wandering  sounds  that  come  and  go 
That  come  and  go,  and  never  die. 


ANADYOMENE. 

r  1  ^  HE  passionate  first  flush 

Of  that  great  sunset  came, 
And  vanished,  like  a  rush 
Of  self-consuming  flame ; 

But  deep  within  the  west, 
Long  lived  the  afterglow, 
And  on  the  water's  breast 
Slow  heaving  to  and  fro ; 

And  where  the  lower  blue 
Was  lost  in  tender  green, 
An  eager  star  burst  thro' 
The  palpitating  screen ; 


ANADYOMENE. 

And  darkly  whispering  went 
The  wind  among  the  grass, 
And  o'er  the  waves,  intent 
On  what  should  come  to  pass  ; 

Eastward  I  turned  my  eyes 
In  vague  expectancy, 
And  saw  the  moon  arise 
Like  Venus  from  the  sea. 


URANIA. 

i. 

T  N  the  sky  a  pallid  gleam 

Follows  sunset's  rosy  glow, 
And  the  clouds  that  all  astream 
Passionately  coloured  so, 
Cold  and  grey  and  withered  seem. 

2. 

Then  the  exhausted  clouds  between, 
Faintly  smiling,  wan  and  fair, 
Twilight's  lonely  star  is  seen, 
Out  of  deeper  depths  of  air, 
Charming  with  a  milder  mien. 


THE   QUIET  MOON. 

T  T  OW  still  the  air,  how  still  the  stream  ! 

The  elm-trees  hardly  breathe, 
And  breathlessly  the  waters  seem 

To  linger  underneath. 

i 
Not  clearer  on  the  cloudless  air 

The  listening  tree-tops  lie, 
Than  on  the  unruffled  river  there 

That  seems  another  sky. 

And  through  the  branches  from  above, 
And  through  them  from  below, 

The  new  moon,  hovering  like  a  dove, 
Gleams  and  forgets  to  go. 


A  MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S    DREAM, 

r  I  ""HE  hot,  unhappy  city 

Oppresses  me  all  day, 
But  with  the  stars  reviving 
My  spirit  slips  away. 

A  country  road  it  enters, 

And  follows  all  alone, 
Beside  the  scented  meadows 

That  were  but  newly  mown ; 

Beside  the  streaming  corn-fields 

That  rustle  in  the  breeze, 
Beside  the  tangled  thickets 

Concealing  mysteries. 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT1  S  DREAM. 

And  here  and  there  it  crosses 
A  brook  that  sings  and  shines, 

Or  whispers  in  the  shadow 
Of  overhanging  vines. 

And  here  a  waveless  water 

It  smoothly  passes  by, 
With  silvery  silent  lilies 

Unshaded  from  the  sky. 

The  flower  of  the  elder-berry 
Perfumes  the  sunny  air, 

The  milk-white  honeysuckle's 
Delicious  scent  is  there; 

The  wild  wide-open  roses 
Half  hide  the  farmer's  wall, 

And  there  the  bees  are  humming 
And  there  the  robins  call ; 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM.          1 5 

There  like  a  windy  blossom 

The  yellow-bird  goes  by, 
There  floats  in  dreamy  silence 

The  mystic  butterfly ; 

There  like  a  gliding  shadow, 

The  squirrel  skims  the  rail, 
There  sounds  the  saucy  whistle 

Of  the  tantalizing  quail ; 

And  self-absorbed  the  crickets 

There,  everywhere  approve 
The  seeming-conscious  quiet 

Through  which  the  noises  move. 

Yet,  sweet  as  is  the  fragrance 
That  there  the  blossoms  yield, 

And  dear  as  are  the  noises 
From  thicket  and  from  field, 


j  6         A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM. 

At  times  another  odour 
Is  felt  obscurely  there, 

An  odour  and  a  murmur 
That  die  upon  the  air. 

But  ever  as  they  vanish 
The  heart  begins  to  say, 

What  is  it  that  I  long  for, 
More  than  I  have  to-day  ? 

A  larger  space  above  me, 
A  larger  space  around, 

A  sense  of  deeper  silence, 
A  sense  of  fuller  sound. 

Enough,  thou  sheltered  valley, 
Of  sky-perplexing  trees, 

Of  mingling  lights  and  shadows, 
Of  dreams  and  reveries ; 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.         1 7 

The  road  goes  on  and  upward, 

And  I  go  up  and  on, 
And  reach  the  open  head-land 

That  loves  the  unshaded  sun. 

• 

No  shadows  overcome  it, 
But  of  the  birds  that  range, 

And  of  the  clouds  forever 

That  wander  and  that  change. 

There  all  the  breezes  gather, 
There  all  the  winds  are  heard, 

There  with  the  sound  of  waters 
The  air  is  ever  stirred. 

The  sea's  incessant  waters, 

That  sky-ward  laugh  and  play, 

That  shore-ward  rolling  whiten 
And  scatter  into  spray, 


1 8         A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM. 

The  hum  of  their  advancing, 
The  thunder  of  their  fall, 

The  moan  of  their  recoiling 
I  hear,  I  see  them  all : 

And  all  of  them  including, 
To  all  of  them  unknown, 

See  heaven's  unruffled  silence, 
High  over  and  alone. 


IN  SEPTEMBER. 

"pEATHERY  clouds  are  few  and  fair, 

Thistle-down  is  on  the  air, 
Rippling  sunshine  on  the  lake. 
Wild  grapes  scent  the  sunny  brake, 
Wild  bees  murmuring  take  the  ear, 
Crickets  make  the  silence  dear ; 
Butterflies  float  in  a  dream, 
Over  all  the  swallows  gleam. 
Here  and  yonder,  high  and  low, 
Golden-rod  and  sunflowers  glow, 
Here  and  there  a  maple  flushes, 
Sumach  reddens,  woodbine  blushes, 
Purple  asters  bloom  and  thrive, — 
I  am  glad  to  be  alive ! 


A  SUNSET  IN  NOVEMBER. 


'T^HE  leaden  slowness  of  the  prostrate  clouds, 

The  dark  pre-eminence  of  naked  boughs, 
The  blind  compulsion  of  the  uncertain  wind, 
The  helpless  rustling  of  the  withered  leaves, 
The  listless  movement  of  the  abandoned  waves, 
I  marked  them  all,  I  made  them  all  my  own, 
To  help  me  to  the  sunset  I  foresaw, 
And  longed  for  fiercely  that  November  day. 

It  came  at  last,  I  know  not  how  it  came, 
A  clouded  fire  showed  smouldering  in  the  west, 
Faded  and  seemed  extinguished.     Overhead 
The  massy  clouds,  like  giants  out  of  dreams 


A  SUNSE  T  IN  NO  VEMBER.  2 1 

Uneasily  awaking,  rolled  apart, 
Closed,  wavered,  opened,  with  a  sudden  gleam 
Of  silvery  edges;  and  then  all  was  changed. 
Upsprang   the   breeze,   the    waves,   the   branches 

sprang; 

The  brown  leaves  quivered  and  went  by  like  birds ; 
The  smouldering  clouds  about  the  western  hills 
Upblown  rose  huddling,  and  let  see  the  sun — 
Red,  rayless,  half-consumed, — beyond  the  Earth 
Slow  drawing  backward ;  while  around  his  place 
And  over  him  increasing,  the  new  light 
Burnt  red,  intense  and  glowing,  here  and  there 
Veiled  with  a  restless  vapour  that  arose 
Confused  and  formless,  like  a  fiery  smoke. 
Lower  he  sank ;  o'erhead  the  parted  clouds, 
Lightened   and  thinned  and  stretching  them  in 

flight, 

Flushed  and  grew  crimson ;  while  beyond  the  lake 
Joyous  with  gold  and  purple,  and  beyond 
The  feathery  outlines  of  the  purpling  hills, 


22  A  SUNSET  IN  NOVEMBER. 

The  open  west  'neath  mingling  green  and  blue 
Was  one  transparent  river  of  bright  gold 
That  northward  slowly  paling  many  a  mile, 
Round  crimson  islands  and  past  rosy  shores, 
Streamed  silent,  waveless,  to  where  side  by  side 
A  nestling  cluster  of  round  little  clouds 
Bloomed  opalescent  in  clear  amber  air. 


A  CLOUDY   DAY. 

A   LL  day  the  sun  has  kept  himself  concealed, 

But  not  in  sullenness.     Look  overhead, 
How  beautiful  the  curtain  that  he  draws, 
'Twixt  heaven  and  earth  soft  floating  in  mid-air 
In  imperceptible  motion,  seeming  still ! 
Irregular,  innumerable  folds, 
With  shadowy  dimples  and  soft  gleaming  lines, 
Touched  with  a  fleeting  colour  that  endures 
Of  opalescent  tints  on  silvery  grey ; 
Most  like  the  interior  loveliness  of  some 
Rare  shell  with  pearly  lining. 

I  watch  it  long : 

Its  many  mingling  hues  that  come  and  go, 
Its  mazy  lines  continually  changing, 


24  A  CLOUDY  DAY. 

Its  shadowy  hollows  that  keep  changing  too, 
Its  flowing  grace  and  its  superb  expanse, 
I  watch  it  long,  unasking  any  more ; 
And  yet — 'tis  but  a  transitory  curtain, 
Drawn  by  the  sun  to  hide  him  for  a  day, 
Some  secret  gladness  of  his  own  concealing, 
Some  rarely  opening  inner  depth  of  Heaven, 
Wherein  unseen  he  glories,  safe  withdrawn, 
In  happy  god-like  loneliness  afar. 


BEFORE   THE   SNOW. 

A     SOFT  grey  sky,  marked  here  and  there 

With  tangled  tracery  of  bare  boughs, 
A  little  far-off  fading  house, 
A  blurred  blank  mass  of  hills  that  wear 
A  thickening  veil  of  lifeless  air, 
Which  no  wind  comes  to  rouse. 

Insipid  silence  everywhere; 
The  waveless  waters  hardly  flow, 
In  silence  labouring  flies  the  crow, 
Without  a  shadow,  o'er  the  bare 
Deserted  meadows  that  prepare 
To  sleep  beneath  the  snow. 


A   SNOW   SHOWER   IN    APRIL. 

A    H,  how  much  greener  does  the  grass  appear, 
How  much  more  strong  and  constant  does 

it  show, 

Contrasting  with  this  transitory  snow, 
Untimely  and  yet  lovely !     Far  and  near, 
Light  lying  on  the  meadows,  it  seems  here 
Like  hoary  clover;  and  there,  on  the  low 
Slope    of    the   knoll,    white    strawberry   blossoms 

grow, 

And  daisies  yonder;  while,  (through  all  the  year 
Sight  longed  for  and  remembered)  pearly  clear 
Around  me  the  light  snow-flakes  falling  seem 
Like  cherry-blossoms,  that  down  eddying  slow, 
Some  warm  May  morning  when  no  breezes  blow, 
All  over  the  fresh  grass-plat  softly  gleam, 
And  like  the  snow-flakes  softly  disappear. 


AN    OLD    PLAY. 
I.     In  the  Street. 

T     IKE  a  breeze  from  a  garden, 
Made  sweet  with  the  scent 
O'  the  fresh  blooming  lilacs, 
She  came  and  she  went. 

Pure  spirit  and  vision, 
Felt  rather  than  known, 

Fain  would  I  have  held  her 
And  made  her  my  own  ; 

But  as  the  unconscious 

Breeze  blesses  and  goes 
So  went  she,  more  blessing 

And  blest  than  she  knows. 


2  8  AN  OLD  PL  A  Y. 


II.     ///  the  Garden. 

T  T  7" HEN  the  lilacs  were  in  blossom, 

And  all  the  air  was  sweet, 
I  saw  her  standing  tip-toe 
Upon  a  garden-seat. 

One  hand  drew  down  the  clusters, 

The  other  bent  a  spray, 
Held  it  a  little  minute, 

And  let  it  slip  away. 

Lilacs,  your  life  is  lengthened, 
But  you've  missed  the  very  best, 

The  best  brief  life  of  lying 
And  dying  on  her  breast ! 


.LV  OLD  PL  A  Y. 


2 9 


III.      TJl  Sunrise. 

• 
A   WAY  to  her,  fresh  morning  breeze ! 

Uplift  and  blow  aside 
Her  cloudy  curtain,  and  with  ease 
Approach  her  undented. 

And  lightly  kiss  her  mouth  and  eyes ; 

And  lightly  lift  her  hair; 
And  blow  about  her  where  she  lies 

This  scent  that  fills  the  air 

Of  apple-blossoms  sweet,  that  she 

May,  waking,  long  to  know 
What  newly  flowering  shrub  or  tree 

Sweetens  the  morning  so; 


3o  AN  OLD  PLA  Y. 

And  past  the  cloudy  curtain  there 
Lean  forth  perhaps  to  see, 

Sweet,  fresh  and  fair,  and  unaware 
Be  seen  herself  by  me. 


IV.     Till  Moonrisc. 

)r  ¥  "MS  long,  long  after  sunset, 

And  cloudless  is  the  sky, 
Yet  strangely  faint  the  stars  are, 
And  strangely  faint  am  I. 

Behind  the  hiding  mountain 
They  know  the  moon  is  near ; 

And  shining  at  her  window 
Soon  will  my  Love  appear! 


AN  OLD  PLAY, 
V.     By  the  Light  o*  the  Moon. 

r  I  "HE  boughs  that  bend  over, 

The  vines  that  aspire 
To  be  close  to  your  window 
Prevent  my  desire. 

Come  forth  from  them,  darling ! 

Enough  'tis  to  bear 
That  between  us  be  even 

Impalpable  air ! 


SONG. 

T     IKE  a  fettered  boat  that  pants  and  pulls, 

And  struggles  to  be  free, 
When  the  wind  is  up,  and  the  whirling  gulls 

Are  wild  with  ecstasy — 

Is  my  heart  apart  from  thee ! 

Like  a  boat  that  leans,  that  leaps,  that  flies, 

That  sings  along  the  sea, 
With  a  sunny  shower  of  drops  that  rise 

And  fall  melodiously — 

Is  my  heart,  Sweetheart,  is  my  heart, 

Is  my  heart,  approaching  thee ! 


LOVE'S    INCAPACITY. 

A   S  a  pale  cloud  at  morning,  when  the  light 
First  overcomes  it  from  the  unrisen  sun, 
Is  flushed  with  rosy  colour,  but  anon 
Grows  paler  yet  and  paler  as  it  feels 
The  illimitable  loveliness  expand 
Till  very  heaven  cannot  contain  it  all ; — 
So  I  foresaw  the  sunrise  of  her  soul, 
So  I  looked  out  and  loved  her,  and  at  once 
Was  flushed  with  rosy  hopefulness  and  joy, 
Then  felt  her  beauty's  uncontrollable  increase, 
And  paler  grew  and  paler  with  despair. 


ON   THE   SHORE. 

9 

T   T  ERE  many  a  time  she  must  have  walked, 

The  dull  sand  brightening  'neath  her  feet, 
The  cool  air  quivering  as  she  talked, 
Or  laughed,  or  warbled  sweet. 

The  shifting  sand  no  trace  of  her, 

No  sound  the  wandering  wind  retains, 

But,  breaking  where  the  foot-prints  were, 
Loudly  the  sea  complains. 


A   HILL-TOP. 

T     ITTLE  more  than  a  rock  nearly  bare, 

Rough  with  lichens  grey-green,  and  a  line 
Of  pale  yellow  grass  here  and  there, 
A  few  daisies,  a  tree,  and  a  vine. 

But  the  woodbine's  aglow  and  astream 
Like  a  cloud  that  the  sun-setting  fires, 

And  star-like  the  still  daisies  gleam, 
And  flame-like  the  cedar  aspires ! 


A   CLIMBER. 

^  I  ^O  climb  and  climb  for  hours  and  hours 

O'er  rocks  and  ice  and  snow. 
To  see  at  last  the  flower  of  flowers, 
Long  sought,  unseen  till  now, 

Bruised,  bleeding,  breathless  to  attain 

At  last  the  final  ledge, 
Lean  over,  look  and  see  it  plain, 

Just  under  the  rough  edge 

Of  that  ice-worn,  frost-splintered  rock, 

In  that  keen  upper  air, 
Where  never  shepherd  seeks  his  flock, 

A  lovely  wonder  there  ; 


A  CLIMBER.  37 

To  gaze  at  it,  and  love  it  more 

And  more  the  more  'tis  seen, — 
Star-like,  but  blood-red  at  the  core 

With  cool  green  leaves  serene ; — 

To  feel  its  fragrance  like  a  kiss 

Awake  and  take  the  heart, 
Its  motion  like  a  smile  dismiss 

And  keep  despair  apart. 

To  love  it,  long  for  it,  to  lean 

Far  and  yet  farther  still, 
With  trembling  fingers  touch  the  green 

And  trembling  leaves,  and  thrill, 

And  thrilling  reach  again,  and  fall 

Whirling  to  where  the  slow 
Cold  mockery  glacier  rivers  crawl 

And  waste  away  below, — 


A  CLIMBER. 

This  was  his  life,  this  was  his  fate, 

A  hard,  long,  lonely  climb, 

/ 
A  failure ; — but  he  stood  elate 

Once  in  the  air  sublime ! 


ANDROMEDA'S    ESCAPE 

A   DRAMATIC  POEM 


[/  hope  that  no  one  will  mistake  this  littie  " Andromeda"  for  an 
attempt  to  imitate  a  Creek  tragedy.  The  resemblance  is  only  superfi 
cial,  and  it  is  very  superficial  indeed,  as  "  the  judicious,"  if  any  such 
should  chance  to  look  into  it,  -will  see  at  once.  There  is  a  Chorus,  there 
is  dialogue,  and  there  is  narrative — all  this  to  give  me  a  chance  to  tell 
the  story  in  a  mixed  form  of  lyric,  dramatic  and  descriptive  verse. 
But  all  this  (used  in  the  freest  may,  without  regard  to  any  of  the  pecu 
liarities  of  the  ancient  Chorus,  and  without  an  attempt  to  represent 
either  ancient  ways  of  life,  or  ancient  forms  of  art),  all  this  has  been  to 
me  only  as  so  much  outermost  shell,  into  which,  or  convenient  to  my 
purpose,  I  have  poured  my  own  anachronistic  composition,  preferring 
to  try  the  experiment  of  filling  up  with  that  cloudy  mixture  to  making 
believe,  after  laborious  refining,  with  something  clearer  perhaps,  and 
perhaps  only  thinner. 

March,  1874.] 


ANDROMEDA'S    ESCAPE. 

In  front  of  the  King' s  palace  just  before  sunrise. 
EUDORA  and  a  Group  of  Girls. 

EUDORA. 

ALL'S  over  now,  and  all  but  us  are  gone. 

Yet  we  still  linger,  loth  to  go  or  stay, 

Shrinking  together,  shivering,  half-benumbed 

In  this  chill  atmosphere  of  sudden  grief, 

Like  sheep  that  huddle  for  a  little  warmth. 

But  let  us  go.     Nay,  wait,  here  comes  the  Queen. 

KASSIOPEIA. 

Girls,  for  I  cannot  rest  within  the  house, 
Have  ye  no  word  of  comfort  for  me  here  ? 

EUDORA. 

How  can  we  comfort  you,  unhappy  Queen, 
Ourselves  so  comfortless  ?     For  what  are  words, 


4  2  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

The  wisest,  could  we  speak  them,  but  a  new 
Insulting  torment  to  the  tortured  soul, 
Like  too  much  sunlight  to  the  wilting  flower  ? 
There  is  no  comfort,  unless  tears  avail 
And  vain  complainings  to  unload  the  heart. 


KASSIOPEIA. 

Whom  I  should  comfort,  who  should  comfort  me, 
The  king,  indoors,  sits  like  a  man  of  stone, 
Unmoving,  speechless,  with  wide-open  eyes, 
Not  downcast,  nor  uplifted  nor  bedimmed, 
But  straight  before  him  staring  hard  and  dry ; 
Nor  dare  I  speak  to  him,  for  even  now, 
Laying  my  hand  upon  him  where  he  sat 
Low  on  the  couch,  he  shrank  as  if  from  fire, 
And  when  (the  old  word  unwittingly  slipped  forth) 
And  when  I  called  him  Father,  gave  a  laugh  ! 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  43 

THE  CHORUS. 
WE  do  not  weep  to  see 
The  sun  forsake  the  sky ; 
The  waning  moonlight  we 
Can  watch  with  tearless  eye ; 
The  birds,  another  home 
Desiring,  fly  afar; 
We  let  them  go  and  come, 
We  know  well  where  they  are : 


We  know  they  will  return 
Nor  keep  too  long  away, 
The  dearer  that  we  yearn 
To  have  them  ere  we  may, 
The  dearer  that  they  are 
So  loth  to  tarry  long, 
Sun,  moon  and  every  star 
And  every  flower  and  song. 


44  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

But  you,  sunlike  that  warmed 
And  filled  our  day  with  light ; 
Moonlike  that  cheered  and  charmed 
And  glorified  our  night ; 
Bird-like  that  made  us  blest 
With  every  happy  tone ; 
Flower-like  the  loveliest 
And  sweetest  ever  known ; 


But  you,  withdrawn  afar 
From  all  you  loved  before, 
We  know  not  where  you  are, 
Shall  see  you  never  more ; 
Shall  nor  by  night  nor  day, 
Nor  soon  nor  later  see, 
Gone  the  well-trodden  way 
To  cold  obscuritv. 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  45 

There  is  no  word  to  say, 
Alas  !  and  nought  to  do, 
We  know  not  what  to  pray 
Nor  whom  to  pray  it  to, 
We  can  but  weep  as  yet, 
Distrusting  every  cure, 
Unwilling  to  forget, 
Unable  to  endure. 


(Entering  as  the  song  ceases.) 

But  what  is  it  you  weep  for  or  for  whom  ? 
Vague  rumours  of  strange  troubles  bring  me  here 
With  men-at-arms  attended,  if  perchance 
I  may  be  yet  of  service  ;  but  even  now 
Nothing  for  certain  do  I  know  of  all 
The  rumoured  evils  that  ye  fear  or  bear. 

KASSIOPEIA. 
Nothing  is  now  to  fear,  too  much  to  bear. 


4  6  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

O,  Phineus,  friend,  I  have  no  daughter  now, 
Andromeda  is  dead ! 


PHINEUS. 
Impossible ! 

KASSIOPEIA. 

'Tis  the  impossible  that  comes  to  pass. 
Do  mothers  kill  the  children  whom  they  love 
Because  they  love  them  ?     Or,  is  the  reward 
Of  lovely  innocence  a  shameless  death  ? 

PHINEUS. 

She  tortures  me  with  riddles.     Would  to  God 
Some  one  would  tell  me  what  she  means  by  this ! 

KASSIOPEIA. 

And  there  comes  one  can  tell  you ;  ask  of  him, 
He  will  not  falter,  telling  you  the  tale. 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  47 

But  as  for  me,  nought  is  there  in  the  earth 
More  hateful  to  me  than  to  see  his  face, 
Unless  indeed  it  were  to  hear  his  voice. 

(As  she  goes,  Main's,  the  High  Priest,  enters.) 

PHINEUS. 

You  know  me,  Moiris.     I  have  heard  strange  tales 
Of  sudden  sorrow  come  upon  this  house. 
Tell  me  the  truth,  and  let  me  know  the  worst. 

MOIRIS. 

Not  willingly,  for  I,  too,  have  a  heart, 
Aye,  and  have  learned  by  proof  as  well  as  proverb, 
That  oft  the  unhappy  bearer  of  ill  news, 
Though  innocent,  to  him  who  hears  them  seems 
A  constant  part,  if  not  indeed  a  cause 
Of  all  the  affliction  that  his  words  convey. 
Unjust,  but  justice  is  what  men  expect! 

PHINEUS. 
I  understand  you ;  but  the  Queen  is  gone. 


48  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Speak,  for  I  grow  impatient  of  suspense, 
And  haply  yet  there  may  be  found  a  cure, 
Or  if  no  cure,  the  comfort  of  revenge. 

MOIRIS. 

Cure  there  is  none,  but  patiently  to  bear. 
And  for  revenge,  'tis  with  a  mighty  God 
And  not  with  mortals  you  will  have  to  deal. 

PHINEUS. 
Be  plain,  be  plain ! 

MOIRIS. 

Something  you  must  have  heard 
Of  all  we  have  suffered  from  a  nameless  beast, 
Sent  us  for  punishment,  that  from  the  sea 
Comes  inland  daily  to  lay  waste  and  slay  : — 
According  to  an  oracle's  command, 
To  save  a  wretched  people  from  despair, 
Andromeda,  our  princess,  to  the  beast 
Is  this  day  made  an  offering,  one  for  all. 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  40 

PHINEUS. 
She  is  dead  then  ?     Or  is  it  still  to  do  ? 


MOIRIS. 

This  morn  ere  sunrise  taking  her  away, 
My  priests  and  I,  we  brought  her  to  the  shore, 
Submissive,  uncomplaining,  strangely  calm ; 
There,  not  an  hour  ago,  hard  by  the  place 
Where  first  the  monster  rises  every  day, 
Fast  bound  to  a  rock  we  left  her  in  the  sea, 
Alive  yet  and  alone. 

PHINEUS. 

Alive,  alone, 

And  there  she  may  be  yet,  alive,  alone, 
Half  dead  with  terror  and  unfriendly  grief! 

MOIRIS. 
Twus  so  commanded  by  the  oracle. 


50  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

PHINEUS. 

What  set  you  on  to  ask  the  oracle  ? 
What  cause  for  so  great  anger,  whose  the  blame  ? 

MOIRIS. 

Increasing  ravage  of  our  flocks  and  fields, 
Slaughter  of  folk,  and  terror,  and  the  wrath 
Of  terror  growing  frantic,  and  the  tears 
And  prayers  of  helpless  sorrow  set  us  on. 
The  Queen's  unheard-of  folly  was  the  cause ; 
Who,  finding  too  much  happiness  too  flat, 
Must  spice  it  with  impiety,  forsooth ! 
Likening  Andromeda — not  her's  the  fault — 
To  deathless  Goddesses ;  nay,  more  than  that 
(Unreasoning  love  is  deadlier  oft  than  hate), 
Boasting  that  altars  should  be  built  to  her, 
And  Sacrifice  be  done,  and  worship  paid. 
And  now,  now,  what  a  sacrifice  is  done ! 

PHINEUS. 

The  Queen's  words  had  a  meaning  then,  tho'  wild ; 
And  yet  the  innocent  must  suffer  all ! 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  51 

MOIRIS. 

Not  all,  not  all ;  and  surely  not  the  worst. 
No  sense  of  guiltiness  increased  her  pain, 
And  all  her  suffering,  and  this  she  knew, 
Was  for  the  advantage  of  the  ones  she  loved. 

PHINEUS. 

Cold  comfort  there !     But  still  I  have  to  hear 
What  happened  to  the  people  and  the  land. 

MOIRIS. 

You  know  the  road  that  eastward  for  a  mile 
Goes  hence  declining  gently  to  the  shore ; 
On  either  side  of  it  what  fields  of  grain, 
What  vines  all  orderly,  row  after  row, 
What  pastures  crowded  with  fair  flocks  and  herds, 
What  orchards,  and  what  meadow-lands  afar, 
Stretch  right  and  left  to  meet  the  including  sky, 
The  comfortable  houses  and  the  barns 
With  noise  of  children  and  with  noise  of  fowls, 


52  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

And  the  trim  gardens  near  them  with  their  flow 
ers; — 

You  have  all  these,  have  more  than  once,  per 
haps, 

Been  filled  with  pleasure  at  the  happy  sight ; — 
Go  now  and  see  them !  where  the  heavy  grain 
Reeled  in  the  breeze  or  slumbered  in  the  sun, 
Undreaming  of  the  sickle ;  where  the  fruit 
Golden  and  crimson  'mid  the  dark  green  leaves 
Of  topmost  bough  and  lowest  shone  and  swung, 
Or  gleamed  unhurt  among  the  dewy  grass 
Of  many  an  orchard ;  where  the  wrinkled  sheep 
Cropped  audibly  their  pasture;  where  the  cows, 
Mechanically  working  tireless  jaws, 
Lay  or  stood  drowsing ;  where  the  children  played 
I'  the  meadow  with  the  daisies,  or  behind 
The  leaning  oxen  in  the  clumsy  cart 
Went  jolting  with  the  harvesters  afield ; 
Where  wife  or  daughter  now  the  farmer's  meal, 
Fresh  gathered  from  the  garden,  brought  in-doors, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  53 

And  now  a  handful  of  selected  flowers — 
O,  why  do  I  so  dwell  upon  it  all  ? — 
When  not  ten  days  ago  whoever  passed 
Might  gladden  looking  at  such  sights  as  these, 
Whoever  passes  sees  a  desert  now. 
For  not  a  day  and  night  were  passed  away 
Since  the  vain  Queen's  defiance,  when  there  came 
Shaming  the  light  that  let  the  thing  be  seen, 
A  grisly  horror  from  the  shuddering  sea. 
Utterly  silent,  with  a  sleepy  eye, 
Loathsome  to  fascination,  slow  it  crawled 
To  where  a  group  of  children  on  the  shore 
Huddling  together  stood  without  a  cry 
Breathlessly  staring — And  at  night  it  came, 
Trampling,  defiling,  beating  down  the  grain, 
Uprooting  shade  and  fruit-trees,  tearing  vines, 
Upturning  gardens,  poisoning  springs  and  streams, 
Devouring  cattle,  rending  them  piece-meal, 
Strewing  their  carcases  about  the  fields — 


54  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

And  the  next  day  it  came,  and  of  the  three 

Fishers  that  saw  it  there  is  one  alive. 

And  the  next  night  and  the  next  day  and  night; 

And  so  for  six  days,  day  and  night  it  came 

As  punctual  as  the  sunrise  and  the  stars, 

As  tireless  as  the  waters  of  the  sea, 

And  deadlier  than  the  tempest.     Till  at  last, 

The  people,  first  half  stupefied,  and  then 

Heroically  patient,  when  they  found 

No  help  in  patience,  and  no  help  in  arms, 

(What  few  among  the  soldiers  dared  affront 

The  invulnerable  monster,  arms  and  all, 

Were  torn  and  trampled  shapeless  in  an  hour,) 

• 

Grew  clamorous  and  then  riotous  in  their  pain, 
With  proclamation  of  a  new-found  law. 
Who  cannot  serve  the  people  cannot  rule  ! 

PHINEUS. 
Insolent  wretches !  and  what  did  the  King  ? 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  55 

MOIRIS. 

He  ruled  his  people;  ruled  them  like  a  King, 
Serving  and  saving  them.  He  gave  his  word 
That  he  would  serve  and  save  them,  gave  them 

hope 

That  he  could  serve  and  save  them ;  and  so  stilled 
And  taught  their  passion  patience,  calmed  their 

fear, 

And  gave  them  faith  and  courage,  that  if  trust 
And  gratitude  and  reverence  could  avail 
To  help  him  now,  there  were  no  need  to  grieve. 

PHINEUS. 
Aye,  if  they  could — 

MOIRIS. 

And  so  they  can  in  time. 

PHINEUS. 

In  time,  in  time !  In  time  is  now ;  and  now, 
Now  what  do  they  avail  ?  Old  man,  you  talk. 


S6  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Their  gratitude,  their  reverence,  their  trust ! 
Their  selfishness,  their  cowardice — Good  God ! 
To  think  that  a  great  King  should  come  to  this, 
And  a  priest  praise  him  for  it !     Oracle ! 
Why  ask  the  oracle  ?  or  having  asked, 
Who  ever  knew  an  oracle  so  dear 
Interpretation  could  not  cloud  its  sense  ? 
What  were  the  words  of  this  ? 

MOIRIS. 

The  words  were  these 
To  save  his  land  and  people,  let  the  King 
Give  up  the  very  dearest  thing  he  has, 
One  life  for  many,  to  be  bound  and  left 
Alone  upon  the  sea-shore,  to  wait  there 
The  doom  appointed,  between  dawn  and  day. 

PHINEUS. 

Could  that  not  be  evaded  ?     Why  not  call 
The  Queen  his  dearest,  and  let  her  atone 
Her  own  destructive  folly  ? 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  57 

MOIRIS. 

So  the  Queen 
Wished  to  interpret  it. 

PHINEUS. 

But  you  perhaps — 

MOIRIS. 

The  King  bade  read  it  otherwise,  and  said, 
His  wish  was  not  to  evade  but  to  fulfil, 
His  duty  being  not  to  cheat  but  save  ? 

PHINEUS. 

To  save,  to  save — why  yes !  but  whom  to  save  ? 
Churls  and  their  cattle  I  suppose.     'Tis  strange ! 
But  even  then,  say  he  had  sent  away 
The  Princess  from  the  palace,  out  of  reach, 
Then  he  would  not  have  had  her — nay,  by  Heaven, 
Not  once  nor  twice  but  many  times  the  Queen, 
Here  in  the  palace,  promised  her  to  me, 


58  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

And  she  was  mine  then  surely,  in  a  sense, — 
Had  I  but  known,  they  should  have  let  me  know, 
They  did  me  wrong  to  act  before  I  came. 
Had  I  been  here  but  yesterday,  last  night, 
I  would  have  saved  her  spite  of  all ;  at  least 
I  could  have  carried  her  away  by  force — 
Now  'tis  too  late. 

MOIRIS  (contemptuously  at  first.) 

Nay,  why  is  it  too  late  ? 
How  do  you  know  it  is  too  late — for  you ! 
She  still  was  living  when  we  left  her  there, 
Go  take  her  now  by  force ! 

Ah !  what  a  thought 

Strikes  me  and  shakes  me  with  a  wild  desire ! 
O,  Phineus,  Girls,  I  know  not  what  I  think ! 
What  if  it  were  enough  to  leave  her  there, 
Fulfilling  just  the  oracle's  command, 
No  less,  no  more  ?  and  what  if  one  should  now, 
Aye,  even  now  be  not  too  late  ?     Prince,  Prince, 


ANDROMEDA^S  ESCAPE, 

You  teach  me  to  be  subtle,  think  of  it ! 
Is  not  the  oracle's  command  obeyed, 
Even  to  the  very  letter,  is  it  not  ? 
Is  not  our  duty  done  then  to  the  full  ? 
Have  we  not  made  the  sacrifice  complete, 
Given  up  the  very  dearest  thing  we  had, 
Bound  her  and  left  her  ?     Can  it  be  that  this, 
May  it  not  be  that  this  shall  be  enough, 
Enough  obedience  to  the  heavenly  will, 
Enough  of  punishment,  enough  of  wrath  ? 
And  now  if  one  could  save  her,  one  like  you, 
Aye,  one  like  you.     I  think  I  see  it  clear — 
One  not  an  inmate  of  the  sinful  house, 
Not  even  a  dweller  in  the  afflicted  land, 
One  not  included  in  the  general  curse, 
Nor  in  the  prohibition  that  compelled 
Father,  and  mother  and  all  other  friends. 
Ah !  not  to  lose  her,  to  abandon  her ! 
You  hesitate,  you  are  thinking  of  it,  think ! 
You  have  your  men-at-arms;  'twas  not  for  us, 


60  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

The  punished,  to  prevail  against  the  beast ; 
But  you,  the  gods,  made  placable  at  last, 
May  let  destroy  the  monster,  aye,  and  save, 
And  save  Andromeda !     What  say  you,  Prince, 
Am  I  too  wild  in  this,  or  am  I  right  ? 

PHINEUS. 

You  are  late,  old  man.     With  such  a  subtle  mind, 
You  might  have  saved  her  yesterday ;  but  now, 
Unless  your  subtlety  can  raise  the  dead, 
What  good  is  it  to  talk  of  rescue  now  ? 
This  is  the  imagination  of  remorse, 
Too  late  repenting  its  accursed  deed, 
That  clings  with*  desperate  longing  to  Perhaps. 
Too  late,  I  say,  you  know  it  is  too  late. 
It  is  too  late,  she  must  be  dead,  she  is  ! 
Why  then  should  I  expose  my  men,  my  friends, 
To  this  sea-monster  which  yourself  admit 
The  King's  own  men-at-arms  dare  not  oppose  ? 
Is  it  less  strong  to-day  than  yesterday, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  61 

Less  fierce,  less  terrible,  less  sent  from  God  ? 
I  know  not  what  you  want  with  me,  old  man, 
You  never  loved  me — is  there  need,  perhaps, 
Of  other  victims,  that  you  fain  would  send 
Me  to  a  combat  that  the  rest  avoid, 
Me  to  a  rescue  that  the  gods  forbade  ? 
Shall  I  go  anger  them  once  more,  once  more 
Bring  punishment  upon  you  worse  than  this  ? 
And  yet,  O  yet,  if  'twere  not — but  it  is ! 
Were  it  not  merely  madness — would  I  not — 
You  know  I  would,  though  I  should  go  alone. 

MOIRIS. 
'Twas  your  own  question, — and  your  own  reply. 

PHINEUS. 
I  have  stayed  here  too  long  talking.     Tell  me, 

Girls, 

Is  not  the  King  within  ?     Did  not  the  Queen 
Go  to  him  when  she  left  us  ?     (Goes  /«.) 


62  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

MOIRIS. 

Is  it  SO  ? 

Is  this  the  prince  that  prated  of  revenge  ? 
Or  if  no  cure  the  comfort  of  revenge  ? 
Girls,  for  you  heard  me,  did  I  seem  to  you 
To  speak  things  merely  foolish  ?     O,  I  thought 
To  move  him  as  the  rising  breezes  move 
The  unfettered  boat  that  leans,  and  is  away. 

EUUORA. 

Not  foolish  certainly,  but  hard  to  judge. 
For  while  you  yet  were  speaking  I  believed, 
But  now,  like  an  unwilling  flag  that  late 
Straight  streaming  quivered  like  a  windy  flame, 
I  sink,  I  flutter  idly  to  and  fro, 
Now   this   way   and   now   that   way   swings   my 

thought, 
But  settling  slowly  to  a  calm  despair. 

MOIRIS. 
And  my  hope  sinks ;  but,  like  the  whirling  ball 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  63 

On  yonder  springing  water-jet  that  plays, 
Thrown  off  and  downcast,  it  is  restless  still, 
And  ever  struggling  upward  climbs  and  falls, 
Springs,  slips  and  drops  and  wavers,  and  again 
Upspringing  bird-like  no  one  can  tell  how, 
Look !  hovers  trembling,  on  the  very  point ! 
I  take  it  for  an  omen !     Yes — and  yet— 
O,  that  this  prince  were  but  a  prince  indeed! 
But   even   the    gods   themselves   work    but   with 

means, 
And  doubting  him  who  seemed  the  heaven-sent 

means, 

I  doubt  myself,  whom  else  I  would  affirm 
To  have  been  undoubtedly  inspired  of  God. 
But  I  will  follow  him,  will  once  again, 
And  ah !  less  passionately  put  my  case, 
More  clearly  therefore,  and  perhaps  prevail. 
I    wronged    him   doubtless   and    I   wronged   my 

cause, 


64  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

No  faith  inspiring  because  wanting  faith. 

Still,  still   I    think   that   she   may  yet   be   saved. 

(Goes  in.) 

THE  CHORUS. 
Is  this  the  man  we  idly  thought 

so  cold  and  hard  before  ? 
Surely  his  love  is  more  than  ours 

even  as  his  hope  is  more. 
Yet  what  avails  it  more  than  ours, 

whose  weakness  we  deplore  ? 

And  yet  strange  stories  have  been  told, 

aye,  even  in  our  days, 
Of  dreadful  death  beyond  all  hope 

escaped  in  wondrous  ways. 
One  tale,  indeed,  how  many  a  time, 

against  my  mother's  knee 
Well  nestling  have  I  begged  to  hear, 

the  tale  of  Danae ! 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  65 

The  beautiful,  the  motherless, 

the  daughter  of  a  king, 

Who  in  her  father's  eyes  became 
as  an  accursed  thing. 

For  having  heard  it  prophesied 

that  by  his  daughter's  son 
Should  come  his  dreaded  death  to  him 

in  some  strange  way  unknown; 
With  that  remorseless  cruelty — 

which  only  comes  of  fear, 
As  soon  as  e'er  her  boy  was  born, 

his  only  daughter  dear 
He  set  adrift, — her  child  and  her, — 

a  child  herself  was  she, 
To  drown  or  starve  or  die  of  grief 

upon  the  homeless  sea. 

But  gently  as  its  mother's  arms 

upbore  the  helpless  child, 
s 


66  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

As  gently  was  her  boat  upborne 

by  waters  strangely  mild, 
And  gentle  as  herself  the  winds 

were  round  her  night  and  day, 
Still  wafting  her  as  in  a  dream 

along  the  appointed  way, 
Till  to  a  glistening  shore  she  came, 

edged  with  a  lace-like  foam, 
And  in  sea-girt  Seriphos  found 

a  refuge  and  a  home. 

There  many  a  year  she  lived  and  there 

still  lives,  'tis  said,  to-day, 
Well  loved  and  loving  with  her  boy, 

of  whom  the  travellers  say 
That  there  is  none  so  beautiful, 

so  hero-like  as  he, 
As  he  whose  early,  awful  death 

seemed  once  a  certainty : 
And,  ah  !  would  God,  Andromeda ! 

lost  one  for  whom  we  wail, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  67 

That  many  a  child  might  hear  of  you 
hereafter  such  a  tale ! 

Thus,  as  a  ship- wrecked  man,  escaped 

a  moment  to  the  shore, 
Hurled  thither  by  the  very  waves 

that  baffled  him  before, 
Half-drowned  and  fainting  and  afraid, 

can  only  clutch  the  sand, 
And  lie  flat  on  his  face  and  cling 

and  cling  with  foot  and  hand, 
For  fear  the  waters'  backward  rush, 

if  he  attempt  to  crawl, 
May  tear  him  off  and  bear  him  back 

and  drown  him  after  all ; — 
Thus  we,  a  moment  lifted  up 

from  midst  the  bitter  sea 
Of  helpless  grief  and  hurled  on  hope, 

cling  to  it  doubtfully, 
Expecting  when  the  refluent  wave 

shall,  with  a  grating  roar, 


68  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Like  pebbles  whirl  us  down  the  slope 
of  that  unsettled  shore, 

And  sea-ward  sweeping  us  afar, 

o'erwhelm  and  sink  us  there, 

With  all  the  weight  of  all  the  waves 
of  desolate  despair ! 

MOIRIS  (Returning.) 

It  needed  a  rude  shock  to  waken  me; 
But  I  have  had  it :  I  shall  dream  no  more. 

THE  CHORUS. 

'Tis  hard,  'tis  hard,  it  is  too  hard  to  bear 
That  love  should  be  so  helpless :  it  can  bleed 
To  see  the  loved  one  suffer,  it  can  burn 
Itself  to  suffer  in  the  loved  one's  place, 
Can  feel  it  shameful  to  be  free  from  pain, 
Can  long  to  die  to  save  her  from  a  pang, 
Can  do  all  this,  and  this  is  all  it  can. — 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  69 

EUDORA. 

But  who  is  this  that  panting  and  aflame, 
Comes  stumbling  and  yet  running  up  the  walk? 

THE  MESSENGER. 

If  I  could  see  him—  can  I  see  the  King  ? 
Strange  things  have  happened,  I  have  news  to  tell. 

MOIRIS. 
What  kind  of  news  ?  nay,  there  can  be  but  one. 

EUUORA. 

Are  you  so  ignorant  then  of  all  things  here 
That  you  can  hope  to  see  the  King  to-day  ? 
Ah  !  and  yet  there  he  comes. 


(Coming  from  the  palace.) 

Still  with  us,  girls  ? 
Moiris,  I  wish  to  talk  with  you.     Who's  this  ? 

MOIRIS. 
A  man  who  brings  you  news,  he  says. 


70  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

KEPHEUS. 

Ah,  news. 

The  world  goes  on,  things  happen,  there  is  news! 
Well  then,  whence  came  you,  and  what  is  your 
news? 

THE  MESSENGER. 

Straight  from  the  sea-shore  I  ran  hither,  sire, 
To  tell  you  that  the  Princess — 

MOIRIS. 

Fool !  be  still ! 

KEPHEUS. 

Your  shoulder  for  a  moment,  Moiris.     Strange  ! 
I  thought  I  had  been  dipped  so  deep  in  grief 
Nothing  could  hurt  me. 

What  you  mean  to  say, 
Is  that  the  Princess  certainly  is  dead. 
Thanks,  'twas  strange  news  to  run  with,  though 
the  intent — 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

I  think  I  know  you !   are  not  you  that  one 
Of  the  three  fisher-brothers  that  escaped  ? 
I  see  it  now;  Moiris,  you  understand, 
Doubtless  the  shock  of  it  has  turned  his  brain. 
Let  him  be  cared  for  kindly.     Peasant,  King! 
Ah  God !  how  little  difference  after  all 
Is  there  between  the  peasant  and  the  King ! 

THE  MESSENGER. 

Nay,  sire ;  but  hear  me  for  a  moment,  sire ! 
Not  dead  I  saw  the  Princess,  but  alive, 
I  saw  her  living  and  the  beast  is  dead. 

KEPHEUS. 
By  Heavens,  this  is  too  much ! 

MOIRIS. 

Nay,  hear  him,  sire ! 

This  is  not  madness  but  the  truth  I  think, 
The  very  truth  which  I  so  dimly  saw, 
And  could  not  prove  and  could  not  disbelieve. 


-j2  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

KEPHEUS. 
Well,  well,  tell  out  your  story. 

THE  MESSENGER. 

When  the  priests 

Went  down  this  morning  early  to  the  shore 
I  followed  them,  in  hopes  that  thus  I  might 
Go  and  come  safely  from  the  fishing-place, 
Where  many  things  were  left  that  dreadful  day, 
Mine  and  my  brothers',  which,  for  I  am  poor, 
I  needed  sorely  and  thought  worth  the  risk. 
I  found  them  all,  just  as  we  left  them  there, 
Nets,  lines  and  tools,  and  even  the  skiff  unhurt, 
Though  only  tethered  to  a  spike  i'  the  sand ; 
A  little  chafed  she  was,  but  nothing  much, 
And  not  a  thole-pin  broken,  and  both  oars 
Safe  where  we  left  them — I  was  glad  enough, 
And  got  all  snug  as  quickly  as  I  could, 
And  then  was  thinking  whether  'twould  be  safe 
To  take  the  boat  round  by  the  point  or  not, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  73 

Or  whether  I  had  better  draw  her  up 

And  leave  her  on  the  sand,  and  go  afoot 

After  the  priests,  with  what  I  needed  most 

Slung  in  a  bundle — I  was  thinking  this, 

When  on  a  sudden  the  slow  rippling  sea, 

Till  now  smooth  as  a  meadow  and  as  still, 

Began  to  hiss  and  murmur  on  the  sand, 

And  break  and  foam  and  writhe  against  the  rocks, 

And  gnash  white  teeth  abroad ;  the  while  a  wind 

Blew  cold  from  the  eastward,  where  a  flock  of 

clouds 

Showed  red  as  blood.     I  shivered  and  stood  still 
And    looked    round   fearfully;    the    priests   were 

gone; 

They  grey  gulls  silently  flew  round  and  round ; 
The  white  robe  of  the  Princess  'gainst  the  rock 
Looked  cold  and  awful ;  and  then  all  at  once 
Was  splendid,  dazzling,  like  a  cloud  that  floats 
Close  to  the  sun ;  and  whether  it  was  that, 


74  ANDROMEDA 'S  ESCAPE. 

Or  whether  'twas  the  flashing  of  the  waves 
Beneath  the  sudden  sunrise  made  me  wink 
I  know  not,  but  when  next  I  looked  I  saw 
Beside  the  Princess  a  young  god  perhaps ; 
With  hair  like  sun-beams  blowing  from  his  face, 
Flushed  like  a  runner's  and  with  angry  eyes ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  sword  which,  as  he  stooped 
To  something  hideous  in  the  curdling  foam, 
He  sent  down  flaming,  and  drew  back  bedimmed. 
And  in  a  minute  ah1  about  the  rock 
The  beaten  waters  were  a  bloody  froth, 
In    which    the    monster    raging,    thrashed    and 

screamed, 

Then  suddenly  leapt  clawing,  with  a  roar, 
Clean  out  of  water,  and  down  plunging  dead 
Dashed  spray  like  hail-stones,  and  uphove  the  sea, 
All  this  I  saw  and  knew  not  if  I  saw 
Or  dreamed  it  rather ;  and  I  saw  him  loose 
The  fetters  from  the  Princess,  and  half  lift, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Half  lead  her,  blushing,  from  the  rock  to  shore. 
So  glad  he  was,  with  such  a  joyous  smile ! 
Not  when  so  terribly  he  whirled  his  sword 
Seemed  he  more  god-like — But  he  bade  me  run 
Hither  to  tell  you  he  would  soon  be  here, 
He  and  the  Princess — 

KEPHEUS. 

But  the  people,  ah ! 

MOIRIS. 

Yes,  and  the  people !     And  the  Princess,  both ! 
Thus  is  the  oracle  both  ways  fulfilled. 
Remember,  sire,  it  did  not  ask  her  death, 
As  in  our  ignorant  sorrow  we  supposed. 

KEPHEUS. 
O  Kassiopeia !     Come  with  me ; — and  you. 

( They  go  in  together. ) 


76  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

THE  CHORUS. 

'Tis  he  that  is  dead,  that  is  dead ! 
He  is  dead,  it  is  he  that  is  dead, 
And  his  is  the  blood  on  the  wave, 
On  the  wave  that  is  red  where  he  lies, 
Where  he  lies,  where  he  moves,  when  he  moves, 
Where  he  moves  when  he  moves  in  his  blood, 
Where  he  moves  at  the  will  of  the  waves, 
At  the  will  of  the  winds  and  the  waves ! 


And  the  horrible  eye-lids  are  closed, 
And  the  horrible  eyes  are  concealed, 
And  cold  are  the  nostrils  that  flamed ; 
And  set  are  the  jaws  that  devoured; 
And  quenched  is  the  poisonous  breath ; 
And  the  terrible  trampling  feet, 
They  move  at  the  will  of  the  waves, 
At  the  will  of  the  winds  and  the  waves ! 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  77 

But  you,  who  were  dead  are  alive ! 

But  you,  we  shall  see  you  again ! 

Bright  eyes  that  we  thought  were  gone  out, 

Sweet  voice  that  we  thought  was  made  mute, 

Warm  heart  that  we  fancied  was  cold, 

Dear  love  that  we  thought  we  had  lost, 

We  shall  see  you  and  hear  you  again, 

We  shall  have  you  once  more  in  our  arms ! 

And  you,  unexpected  desire ! 

O  you,  with  delivering  sword, 

i 
'Who  sprang  to  the  maiden  to  save, 

Who  stooped  to  the  monster  to  slay ! 
O  you,  whether  Hero  or  God, 
To  the  gods  you  are  certainly  dear, 
As  to  us  you  are  dear,  and  to  her 
Whom  we  pray  you  to  hasten  to  bring ! 

Yea,  hasten,  O  hasten,  for  now, 
Even  now  in  the  midst  of  our  joy, 


7 8  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

We  are  tortured  with  doubt  and  with  fear ; 
As  a  mother  that  over  the  bed 
Of  her  boy  that  they  brought  her  for  drowned, 
Hangs  trembling,  and  dare  not  believe 
When  she  sees,  when  she  doubts  if  she  sees 
That  he  moves,  that  he  opens  his  eyes. 

(Enter  Perseus  and  Andromeda,  Andromeda  talking  as  they  come.) 

ANDROMEDA. 

Look,  Perseus,  there's  my  rose-tree,  still  in  bloom 
And  there's  my  elm-tree,  like  a  lily-flower, 
They  planted  it  for  me  when  I  was  born  ; 
And  the  empty  bird's-nest  in  its  branches — O 
Nothing  is  changed, — how  natural  it  seems ! 
And  there's  Eudora,  and  the  girls, — Ah  girls, 
I  thought  I  never  should  have  seen  you  more ! 
O  those  black  dresses ! — 

(Seeing  the  King  who  appears  in  the  doorway.)       Father  ! 

KEPHEUS. 

(Taking  her  in  his  arms  as  she  runs  forward.)       Andromeda  ! 

(They  go  in  together.) 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  jg 

EUDORA. 

We  know  your  name  is  Perseus,  and  we  know 
That  but  for  you  we  never  more  had  heard 
The  happy  voice  that  named  you.    But  much  more 
We  long  to  have  you  tell  us,  if  you  will. 
I  am  a  cousin  of  Andromeda's, 
And  we  are  all  her  playmates,  schoolmates,  friends. 

PERSEUS. 

Yes,  I  am  Perseus ;  and  though  not  by  name 
Yet  you  have  heard  of  me  before,  I  think. 
Andromeda, — the  Princess,  knew  me  too. 
The  son  of  Danae  who  far  from  home 
Longs  in  Seriphos  for  her  native  land, 
Which  she  shall  see,  which  that  she  soon  may  see 
Is  why  I  left  her  and  why  I  am  here. 
For  not  alone,  O  maidens,  in  this  land 
Is  sorrow  an  inevitable  guest, 
Against  whose  entrance  there  is  no  defence 
Of  goodness  or  of  beauty  or  of  power, — 


8o  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Else  had  I  not  been  with  you  here  to-day, 

Else  had  I  never  known  you,  never  known 

Andromeda  perhaps, — Tis  wonderful. 

For  see  how  strangely  it  has  come  about. 

My  mother,  Danae,  as  you  have  heard, 

Came  to  Seriphos,  and  there  many  a  year 

Lived  not  unhappy, — for  she  had  at  least 

The  daily  happiness  a  mother  feels 

In  watching  over  the  young  helpless  life 

Whose  flattering  weakness  is  a  source  of  strength 

In  loneliness,  in  sorrow,  and  in  doubt, 

Of  strength  to  bear,  to  hope,  too,  and  enjoy. 

And  I  was  happy,  happier  than  I  knew, 

As  year  by  year  I  grew  in  strength  and  height, 

And  whom  I  loved  as  mother  soon  began 

To  love  as  sister  also.     So  we  lived. 

But  now  King  Polydektes,  a  hard  man, 

Imperious  and  ambitious,  (unlike  him, 

Who  saw  and  saved  us  as  we  came  to  shore, 

Diktys,  his  brother,  an  unselfish  friend), 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  81 

But  now  the  King,  perceiving  me  a  man 
In  strength  and  stature,  and  almost  in  years, 
Began  to  frown  upon  me  with  alarm 
As  one  whose  rivalry  might  by  and  by 
Frustrate  the  plan  he  had  to  attain  the  rule 
Of  the  Argive  kingdom  in  my  mother's  right. 
And  so  at  first  an  oft  rejected  suit, 
Still  urged,  as  always,  in  the  mask  of  love, 
Was  urged  again;  and  yet  again  denied; 
Till,  finding  it  in  vain  to  wear  a  mask, 
The  wooing  changed  to  tyranny  at  length. 
My  mother,  still  inflexible,  was  made 
Close  prisoner  in  the  palace,  there  to  stay 
Till,  as  the  King  said  with  an  angry  sneer, 
But  crafty,  too,  to  rid  himself  of  me : 
Till  either  she  come  forth  my  wedded  Queen, 
Or  death  release  her ;  or  her  boy  forsooth 
Find  if  he  dare,  and  bring  me  if  he  can 
Medusa's  head  for  ransom.     I  set  forth 
That  very  night  upon  the  doubtful  quest. 

6 


82  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

EUDORA. 

Medusa's  head  that  turneth  all  to  stone 
Who  ever  look  upon  her  face  to  face ! 
Alas !  dear  friend,  a  more  than  doubtful  quest 
It  is  you  go  on ;  and  too  great  a  loss 
It  were  to  lose  you  by  so  dread  a  death. 
Were  it  not  wiser,  with  King  Kepheus'  aid, 
Returning  to  the  tyrant — 

PERSEUS. 

Nay,  my  friends, 

But  I  am  now  returning,  having  here 
The  ransom  that  the  tyrant  bade  me  bring, 
But  bringing  which  I  shall  not  have  his  thanks; 
Here  in  this  bag  I  wear  it  by  my  side : 
Athene  heartened  me  and  was  my  shield, 
And  Zeus  and  Hermes  were  my  strength  and  skill. 

EUDORA. 

How  came  you  to  the  Gorgon,  and  O  how 
'Scaped  you  unfrozen  from  the  awful  eyes  ? 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  83 

PERSEUS. 
I  never  saw  them  and  they  saw  not  me. 

EUDORA. 
Now  you  are  laughing  at  us. 

PERSEUS. 

Nay;  'tis  true. 

When  from  Seriphos  to  the  Argive  shore 
The  ship  had  brought  me,  and  I  stood  alone 
In  mine  own  country  and  without  a  friend, 
And  knew  not  what  to  do  nor  where  to  go, — 
All  day  I  journeyed  westward,  and  by  night 
Still  struggled  onward ;  till,  tired  out  at  last, 
I  lay  down  anywhere  and  fell  asleep. 
And  sleeping  dreamed ;  and  saw  Athene  there, 
Who  told  me  where  and  when  to  go  and  how ; 
And  gave  a  mirror  and  a  shield  in  one, 
In  whose  bright  calm  unruffled  I  might  see 
Medusa's  image,  not  her  deadly  self, 


84  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

And  by  her  image  knowing  her,  unhurt, 

Know  how  to  strike,  and  striking,  how  to  slay. 

And  in  a  dream  Hermes  I  saw  from  Zeus 

Sent  with  unerring  sword,  and  words  of  cheer, 

And  promise  of  a  helmet  to  be  had, 

Which  makes  invisible,  and  winged  shoes 

That  walk  on  air  as  easy  as  on  earth. 

So  on  I  journeyed  with  a  hopeful  heart, 

Past  Atlas  weary  with  the  weight  of  heaven ; 

Past  Twilight  glimmering  with  a  single  star; 

Past  sight  of  mortals,  to  the  final  sea, 

The  Earth's  inclusion  and  the  sea-nymphs'  home ; 

And  there  the  helmet  and  the  winged  shoes 

The  sea-nymphs  gave  me ;  and  beyond  the  sea, 

Thro'  drear  waste  places  full  of  wind  and  cloud, 

Still  on  I  laboured  and  still  on  and  on 

Till  by  and  by  I  knew  that  I  was  there : 

An  awful  place  inhuman  and  alone ; 

There  the  sun  shines  not,  and  the  moon  is  gone, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  85 

The  white  stars  dwindle,  and  a  something  moans ; 

For  'tis  not  utter  darkness,  utter  cold, 

Not  dark  enough  to  quite  put  out  the  eyes, 

Not  cold  enough  to  quite  benumb  the  heart, 

Darkness  that  broods  upon,  and  cold  that  aches; 

Nor  is  it  life,  nor  is  it  death,  but  still 

Something  between  them  that  may  live  or  die. 

And  like  the  place  the  face  was  that  I  saw 

Reflected  sleeping  in  the  silvery  shield ; 

And  now  'twas  deadly,  'twas  so  cold  and  hard, 

And  now  'twas  pitiful,  so  full  of  grief, 

And  now  'twas  beautiful,  so  nearly  calm. 

Long  time  I  gazed  upon  its  image  there, 

Fixed  in  strange  thought;    and  what   had   hap- 

.    pened  next 

I  dare  not  think,  had  not  a  sudden  gleam 
And  wavy  movement  of  the  unnoticed  snakes, 
That  in  the  ripplings  of  her  tresses  writhed, 
Thrilled   me  with   fear,  and  made  me   quick   to 
strike 


86  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Lest  I  be  stricken.     So  I  did  the  deed, 
And  veiling  close  the  intolerable  face, 
Henceforth  a  help,  and  yet  a  terror  too, 
Fled  none  too  fast,  till  over  shone  the  sun 
And  under  laughed  the  waters  of  the  sea. 
How  glad  I  was !  but  not  so  glad  as  when 
I  saw  Andromeda,  whom, — had  I  known 
That  there  was  such  a  one  in  all  the  world — 
I  would  have  gone  to  look  for  thro'  the  world. 
And  there  I  found  her  as  one  might  a  pearl 
Tossed  by  the  waves  upon  the  careless  shore : 
Not  so,  but  rather  by  the  liberal  gods 
Brought  there  to  bless  me  with  a  destined  love. 

EUDORA. 
Now  we  shall  lose  you,  for  here  comes  the  King. 

KEPHEUS. 
Oh !  Perseus,  could  I  thank  you  as  I  would — 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  87 

PERSEUS. 
Nay,  you  would  thank  me  more  than  I  deserve. 

(They  go  in  together.') 

THE  CHORUS. 
At  dawn  how  dull  the  dew 
Looked  on  the  languid  grass ! 
And  paler  the  stars  grew, 
And  ah,  how  chill  it  was ! 
And  not  a  bird  was  heard, 
And  like  the  fluttering  breath 
Of  weakness  near  to  death 
The  uncertain  breezes  stirred. 

Now,  every  drop  of  dew 
That  quivering  feels  the  sun, 
With  every  lovely  hue 
In  earth  that  ever  shone, 
In  heaven  or  earth  or  sea, 
Or  cloud,  or  flower,  or  foam, 


88  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Or  in  the  birds  that  roam, 
Lightens  incessantly. 

And  now,  'neath  the  profound 
Blue  of  the  sunny  sky, 
How  musically  sound 
The  breezes  gliding  by; 
And  sweet  the  noises  are 
Of  wandering  birds  and  bees, 
And  sweet  too  is  the  sea's 
Low  murmur  from  afar. 

And  doves  on  easy  wings, 
Snow-white  in  pure  blue  air, 
Follow  in  airy  rings 
Each  other  here  and  there; 
Or  on  the  sunny  roof 
Make  a  voluptuous  moan, 
Like  the  undreaded  tone 
Of  thunder  gone  aloof. 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  £g 

How  beautiful  it  is ! 
Ah !  surely  in  the  earth 
A  lovelier  morn  than  this 
Had  never  yet  a  birth : 
Save  that,  when  first  from  sleep 
The  earth  awoke  at  last, 
And  breathing  low  and  fast 
Began  to  watch  the  deep ; 

And  beautifully  bare, 
Unshaded  by  a  cloud, 
Was  not  the  sea  aware 
That  feared  to  breathe  aloud  ? 
And  o'er  the  panting  sea, 
And  'neath  the  leaning  sky, 
The  breezes  were  a  sigh 
Of  charmed  expectancy : — 

For  that,  that  was  the  morn 
Which  after  a  long  night, 


go  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Saw  Aphrodite  born 
To  fill  the  world  with  light  ; 
And  fill  with  light  the  eyes 
That  looked  for  death,  and  lo  ! 
'Twas  Love  that  dazzled  so, 
As  day  began  to  rise  ! 


(Entering  after  the  song.) 

Girls,  did  he  tell  you  who  he  is  and  what, 
This  wandering  hero  ?  has  he  any  name  ? 

EUDORA. 

Perseus,  the  son  of  Danae,  the  Prince 
Of  the  Argive  country,  and  to  be  its  King. 

PHINEUS. 

So  he  says,  yes  ;  and  how  then  came  he  here, 
Whence  coming  and  where  going  all  alone  ? 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

EUDORA. 

From  seeking  ransom  he  is  on  his  way 
To  free  his  mother  from  a  tyrant's  hands. 

PHINEUS. 

What  tyrant  and  what  mother  ?  but  it  serves : 
Kepheus  is  grateful  and  besides  is  rich. 

EUDORA. 

He  has  the  ransom,  which  he  won,  not  asked : 
Medusa's  head  that  turneth  men  to  stone. 

PHINEUS. 
His  tongue  at  least  it  did  not  turn  to  stone. 

EUDORA. 
No ;  nor  his  heart  that  shrank  not,  nor  his  arm. 

PHINEUS. 
By  Heaven,  nor  mine,  if  that  is  what  you  mean. 


92  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

EUDORA. 
That  Perseus  saved  Andromeda  I  mean. 

PHINEUS. 
And  so  'd  have  I,  had  I  not  thought  her  dead. 

EUDORA. 
But  as  for  him  he  saw  she  was  alive. 

PHINEUS. 
Not  seeking  her  he  found  her  but  by  chance. 

EUDORA. 
No  one  entreated  him  to  go,  you  mean. 

PHINEUS. 
He  had  a  happy  chance  is  what  I  mean. 

EUDORA. 
And  made  a  happy  use  of  it,  it  seems. 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  93 

PHINEUS. 

Well,  take  him  for  a  hero'  if  you  will. — 
Nay,  nay,  I  am  but  jesting : — 'twas  a  deed 
Worth  praise  and  gratitude ;  I  praise  him  too, 
And  am  most  grateful  to  him ;  I  have  cause, 
You  know  what  cause  I  have  for  gratitude. 
I  love  Andromeda,  have  loved  her  long, 
The  Queen  has  promised  me  she  shall  be  mine. — 
Girls,  we  are  friends  together  are  we  not  ? 
Befriend  me  now,  for  now,  to  tell  the  truth, 
Somehow  I  seem  bewildered,  lonely,  strange, 
Like  a  man  lost  and  know  not  what  to  do, 
I  missed  a  chance  this  morning,  as  you  say : 
My  grief  disheartened  me  and  made  me  blind, 
You  too,  you  all  of  you  believed  her  dead. 
A  careless  stranger,  with  unclouded  eye, 
Saw  clearer,  acted  quicker,  that  is  all. 
I  do  not  grudge  him  glory,  'tis  his  due, 
Nor  gratitude  in  reason, — but  the  excess — 


94  ANDROMEDA 'S  ESCAPE. 

Andromeda's,  you  know,  a  kind  of  girl 
Apt  to  be  overgrateful,  apt  to  see 
More  than  there  is  in  ordinary  things. 
'Tis  that  that  troubles  me. — This  Perseus  now, 
Who  comes  to  save  her  as  if  from  the  sky, 
What  may  she  not  imagine  him  to  be  ? 
And  then  how  easy  too  for  him,  in  turn, 
To  fancy  there  were  something  more  implied 
Than  eager  gratitude  for  service  done 
In  what  I  can  imagine  may  have  been 
Andromeda's  too  liberal  word  and  way. 

EUDORA. 
For  shame,  to  speak  of  her  in  such  a  way ! 

PHINEUS. 

Nay,  but  I  do  not  blame  her.     I  foresee 
That  there  might  be  an  error  which  to  avoid 
I  wish  you  now  to  help  me,  that  is  all. 


ANDROMEDA1  S  ESCAPE.  95 

EUDORA. 

There  is  ah  error  but  it  is  your  own. 

PHINEUS. 

You  think  that  I  am  needlessly  alarmed; 
Perhaps  I  am,  I  hope  I  am,  and  yet 
I  must  not  let  myself  again  be  foiled 
For  want  of  acting  promptly.     Help  me  here, 
You  think  that  he  is  what  he  says,  a  Prince. 

EUDORA. 
A  very  Prince. 

PHINEUS. 

At  least  he  is  not  a  churl. 
So  much  the  better.     Open-hearted,  proud, 
I  think  he  can  be  trusted, — there  it  is, 
Once  let  him  be  persuaded  she  is  mine ! 
Help  me  in  this,  Eudora,  and  all's  well, 
My  trouble  passes,  and  I  see  my  way. 


96  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Do  this  for  me,  contrive  that  he  shall  know 
As  soon  as  possible  that  she  is  mine ; 
She  is,  she  is,  I  will  not  give  her  up ! 

EUDORA. 

She  is,  she  is !     She  is  not,  no  indeed ! 
Nor  ever  shall  be  if  my  prayer  prevail. 
Yours  our  Andromeda !  that  she  is  yours ! 
Go  tell  him  so  yourself,  tell  Perseus  so ! 
That  she  is  yours,  that  she  is  yours  of  course, 
Of  course  is  yours,  as  like  belongs  to  like 
Or  as  the  captive  to  the  captor,  go ! 
Tell  him  that  she  is  yours,  and  tell  him  too 
How  Moiris  urged  you  to  go  take  your  own, 
And  tell  him  what  you  answered  to  his  prayer. 
Tell  him  how  long  she  has  been  yours,  and  ask, 
Ask  him  if  anywhere  along  the  shore 
He  saw  you  hastening  to  redeem  your  own, 
With  men-at-arms  to  help  you ;  or  if  there 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Alone  he  found  her  in  the  lonely  place, 
Unclaimed  of  any  but  approaching  death. 
Go  ask  him  this ;  and  then  say  she  is  yours ! 
But  as  for  me,  if  I  were  to  decide, 
I  think  Medusa  were  the  one  for  you, 
She  will  not  vex  you  with  too  warm  a  heart ! 

PHINEUS. 
But  first  for  him  who  set  you  on,  and  then 

(Goes.) 

THE  CHORUS. 

Like  an  obstructing  fog  that  chills 
And  numbs  the  narrowing  space  it  fills, 
Blots  out  the  meadows  and  the  trees, 
Blots  out  the  houses  by  degrees, 
And  all  the  excluded  world  around 
Makes  colourless  and  vague  of  sound, 
And  all  the  sky  and  all  the  sea 
But  a  disheartening  memory ; — 


g8  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

O  passionate  heart  and  pure  and  true, 
Andromeda !  like  this  to  you, — 
Than  the  sea-monster  more  to  fear 
Untamed,  unchecked  in  his  career, — 
The  wasting  death-in-life  would  be 
Of  this  man's  cold  proximity. 

But  like  the  sunlight  and  the  wind 

That  shake,  that  send  the  pierced  and  thinned 

And  shivering  mists  apart,  afar, 

Till  bright  and  broad  the  waters  are 

Beneath  the  broad  blue  heaven  that  lie 

With  beckoning  smiles  from  shore  to  sky; 

And  green  and  gold  for  many  a  mile 

The  trees  that  sing,  the  fields  that  smile ; — 

Like  these  and  more,  to  you  shall  be 

The  conquering  love  that  sets  you  free, 

That  sets  you  free,  that  sets  you  where 

In  Love's  expanding  light  and  air, 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  ^ 

Is  endless  growth  from  hour  to  hour 
Of  lovely  bud  to  lovelier  flower. 

(As  the  song  ceases  Moiris  is  seen  coming  slowly  from  the  palace.) 
EUDORA. 

But  look,  'tis  Moiris  like  a  man  amazed. 
Something  has  happened.     Ah,  we  were  to  blame. 
What  may  not  Phineus  have  been  stung  to  do ! 

MOIRIS. 

O,  I  have  seen  what  I  cannot  believe, 
What  would  to  Heaven  I  could  forget  again ! 
But  it  was  necessary,  it  was  just. 

EUDORA. 

Ah,  Heaven  be  praised,  it  was  not  Perseus  then, 
Just  now  Prince  Phineus  left  us  with  a  threat — 

MOIRIS. 

Yes,  and  well  nigh  fulfilled  it;  'twas  his  plan 
That  some  half  dozen  of  his  men-at-arms 


I0o  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

Lying  in  ambush  by  the  Western  gate 

Should  silently  seize  Perseus,  by  himself 

Lured  thither  unsuspicious,  and  at  speed 

Carry  him  off,  and  either  over  sea 

Send  him  unhurt  to  Argos,  if  he  chose, 

Promising  never  to  return  again, 

Or  hold  him  in  imprisonment,  or  worse. 

This  we  learned  afterwards.     'Twas  all  prepared, 

Horses  and  men  in  waiting,  but  so  blind 

A  rage  came  over  him,  as  you  shall  hear, 

That  all  was  thwarted  terribly. — The  King, 

Perseus  and  I  were  in  the  inner  court, 

Talking  together,  walking  up  and  down, 

When  Phineus  came  and  found  us.     With  a  face 

Working  as  clouds  work  in  a  wind,  a  voice 

Half  whisper  and  half  hiss,  he  first  aside 

Spoke  with  the  King  a  moment,  and  then  turned, — 

Handling  his  sword-hilt  with  a  shaky  hand 

That  made  the  loose  blade  rattle  in  the  sheath, — 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  JOi 

To  Perseus  fiercely;  and  with  heavy  breath, 
Like  one  repeating  a  set  form  of  words, 
Said  something  undistinguished,  such  a  strange 
Half-human  sound  his  voice  was,  like  a  moan, 
Only  I  caught  the  ending,  Will  you  go  ? 
At  which  the  King  indignant  and  ashamed, — 
Phineus,  remember  that,  that  we  are  akin, 
Disgrace  me  not  before  my  guest,  before 
My  benefactor :  be  a  man  !     But  he, 
More  like  a  beast  that  leaps  and  is  withheld 
And  grows  the  fiercer  as  it  feels  the  chain, 
Drew  and  ran  dumbly,  and  with  all  his  might 
Straight  struck  at  Perseus   where   he   stood   un 
armed, 

(His  sword  and  shield  left  hanging  in  the  hall) 
And  certainly  had  killed  him,  but  the  King 
Caught  on  his  own,  that  shivered  in  his  hand, 
The  heavier  weapon.     At  which  Phineus  laughed, 
And — while  the  King  cried   Coward,  wait!   and 
ran 


102  ANDROMEDA 'S  ESCAPE, 

Swift  to  the  hall  to  arm  himself — said  Now  ! 
Now  then  I  have  you,  if  my  arm,  forsooth, 
Fail  me  not,  paralyzed  before  the  face 
Whose  impudence  Medusa  could  not  bear ! 
But  Perseus  at  the  taunting  words,  at  once, 
Like  one  who  starts  from  musing  at  a  touch, 
Sprang  back,  still  facing  him,  and  with  swift  hands, 
Tore  open  the  small  satchel  at  his  belt 
And  crying  Take  it  then!  as  Phineus  rose 
With  sword  swung  over  him  in  haste  to  strike, 
(For  now  the    King  came  running   through  the 

door) 
Stretched    out    his    arm,   and    turned    away    his 

eyes. — 

And  Phineus,  who  stood  facing  me,  I  saw 
Stare,  leaning  forward  like  a  bird  that  feels 
The  snake's  eyes  drawing;  and  then  on  his  face 
Fall  like  a  stone,  and  lie  there  like  a  stone. 


ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE.  ^3 

EUDORA. 

'Twas  I  who  helped  enrage  him :  I  was  wrong, 
Not  thinking  what  the  consequence  might  be. 
Too  like  his  own  my  fault  was,  to  obey 
No  law  but  selfish  impulse ;  and  yet  here, 
In  the  misfortunes  of  this  house,  this  land, 
Was  plain  enough  example  of  the  ills 
Which  only  thoughtlessness  may  bring  about. 

MOIRIS. 

Hard  to  keep  always  are  the  laws  of  life ; 
The  most  are  careless,  and  the  careful  fail : 
And  thus  it  is  that  all  men  suffer  pain, 
Their  own  and  others  which  they  give  and  take ; 
For  deeds  once  done  are  in  the  common  air 
To  taint  or  purify  what  all  must  breathe. 
Well,  then,  lives  he  who  thinks  of  all  he  does 
As  the  producing  of  germ  after  germ. 
And  well  for  him,  whom  though  he  know  not  how, 


I04  ANDROMEDA'S  ESCAPE. 

The  love  of  others,  like  a  law  constrains, 
Whether  to  suffering  or  to  action  called. 
But  arrogance  is  like  the  towering  wave 
That  runs  and  breaks  upon  a  barren  shore- 


BALLADS 


HOW   ROLAND   BLEW  THE    HORN. 

"  Ctianson  de  Roland."    See  Ludlow's  " Popular  Epics  of  the  Middle 
Ages." 

I. 

O  Roland  and  his  companies 
Were  left  to  keep  the  rear, 
While  Charles  went  forward  into  France, 
Though  with  a  secret  fear. 

Meantime  the  Saracens,  a  host, 

Lay  in  the  woods  unseen ; 
Bright  was  the  morning — all  at  once, 

Outflashing  from  the  green  ! 

As  many  as  the  glittering  leaves, 

From  spear  and  helmet  flew 
The  dazzling  lights ;  and  all  at  once 

A  thousand  trumpets  blew. 


108       HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

Said  Oliver,  "  Now  sure  enough 
We  shall  have  battle  to-day !  " 

And  Roland  laughing  answered  him, 
"  By  Heaven,  I  hope  we  may !  " 

But  Oliver  without  a  word 

Ran  straight  to  a  pine-tree  tall, 

And  quickly  clorab  it,  and  amazed 
To  Roland  'gan  to  call. — 

"Ah!  such  a  tumult  as  I  see 
Of  helms  and  hauberks  bright ! 

Sure  such  a  host  of  men  before 
Was  ne'er  in  one  man's  sight ! 

"We  shall  have  battle  here  to-day, 
The  like  was  never  known ; 

And  this  that  Ganilo  knew  well 
Who  left  us  here  alone. 


HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN.       IO9 

"  But  thwart  him  while  there  yet  is  time, 
Sound,  Roland,  sound  the  horn, 

And  Charles  will  hear  it,  and  his  host, 
And  hasten  to  return ! " 

Said  Roland,  "  I  will  sound  it  not ! 

Mad  were  I  to  forego 
The  praise  which  I  shall  win  to-day 

Throughout  all  France,  I  know ! 

"  Wait  till  you  see  old  Durandal 

Whirl  flaming  in  the  light ! 
Wait  till  you  see  him  to  the  hilts 

All  bloody  in  the  fight ! " 

Said  Oliver,  "  I  know  the  way 

Of  Durandal  of  old ; 
I  know  how  stout  an  arm  you  have, 

And  how  your  heart  is  bold. 


no      HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

"  But  I,  I  tell  you,  I  have  seen 

The  Saracens  of  Spain, 
The  hills,  the  vales  are  thick  with  them, 

Like  grass  they  fill  the  plain. 

"  A  little  band  are  we,  my  friend, 

Too  few  for  such  a  host  ; 
I  charge  you,  Roland,  sound  the  horn, 

Or  all  of  us  are  lost ! " 

"  Never  for  Pagans  will  I  sound 

The  horn  for  help  to  call ! 
The  more  they  are,  the  infidels, 

The  more  I  scorn  them  all ! 

"If  I  am  rash,  yet  you  are  wise 

And  both  of  us  are  stout ; 
And  if  our  company  be  less 

Than  all  that  Pagan  rout, 


HO  W  ROLAND  BLE  W  THE  HORN.       1 1 1 

"  On  horse-back  and  well-armed  we  are, 

And  not  a  coward  here : 
Lead  you  with  lance,  and  I  with  sword, 

And  what  is  there  to  fear  ?  " 

So  said  he,  and  to  Turpin  then, 
The  Archbishop,  called  aloud  : — 

"  Now  then,  or  ere  we  go  afield 
Against  this  Pagan  crowd, — 

"  Now  then,  my  Lord,  absolve  us  all, 

And  bless  us  speedily ! " 
So  from  his  horse  the  Archbishop  spake 

To  all  the  company : — 

"  Lord  Barons,  here  we  are  alone, 

The  King  by  this  is  far ; 
'Tis  not  his  fault  we  are  surprised. 

Nor  ours,  but  here  we  are ; 


112       HO  W  ROLAND  BLE  W  THE  HORN. 

"  And  here  is  battle  sure  enough, 

'Tis  easy  enough  to  see 
The  Saracens,  though  to  count  them  all 

A  harder  task  'twould  be : 

"  Bethink  you  then,  repent  your  sins, 
Pray  mercy  of  God,  and  go ! 

The  penance  that  I  order  is — 
Strike,  and  strike  hard  the  foe ! " 

So  said  he;  and,  dismounting  there, 
They  knelt  down  every  one 

For  Turpin's  blessing,  and  again' 
Were  ready  to  be  gone. 

So  forth  they  went,  at  head  of  them 

Roland  with  easy  mind ; 
To  th'  foe  his  look  was  proud  and  stern, 

To  his  friends  'twas  mild  and  kind. 


HO  W  ROLAND  BLE  W  THE  HORN,      j  j  3 

And  pleasantly  he  spake  to  them, 

"  My  Lords,  ride  gently  on, 
Here  shall  a  mighty  martyrdom 

Of  Pagans  be  anon ! " 

Said  Oliver,  "  I  say  no  more, 

Let  who  will  have  the  blame, 
'Twill  not  be  Charles's  fault,  if  France 

This  day  be  brought  to  shame." 

So  said  he,  and  'gan  cry  aloud, 

"  Lord  Barons,  for  God's  sake, 
Hold  you  the  field,  strike  hard  your  blows, 

Expect  to  give  and  take ! 

"Together  now,  have  you  forgot 

The  war-cry  of  the  King?" 
So  cried  he ;  and  who  heard  them  shout 

Monjoie  !  for  answering, 


H4,     HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

Might  well  be  moved  to  bravery, 

So  heartily  they  cried, 
As  forward  all  together  now 

They  lightly  'gan  to  ride. 

And  now  they  meet.     And  first  of  all 
Was  Roland's  sword  let  go, 

Bright  Durandal,  and  down  the  spine 
Cleft  with  a  single  blow, 

Asbroth,  King's  nephew,  peer  of  Spain, 
Who  boasted  his  should  be 

The  sword  of  Roland  for  his  own, 
Fell  silent  suddenly. 

And  headlong  backward  from  the  spear 

Of  Oliver  as  soon, 
Falsaro,  the  King's  brother  fell ; 

And  for  a  third  went  down 


HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN.       I 

Corsalis,  dead  on  Turpin's  lance 
That  ran  him  thro'  and  thro'; 

While  Angelier  with  swifter  sword 
The  swift  Malprimis  slew. 

His  friend  the  Emir  followed  him, 

By  good  Berenger  slain  ; 
And  from  side  to  side  Duke  Samson  cut 

The  Almacer  atwain. 

"  A  Baron's  blow ! "  the  Archbishop  said, 
So  fared  they,  sword  and  lance, 

Peers  of  the  Saracens  with  Peers 
Of  Christendom  and  France. 

Meantime  a  general  battle  raged ; 

And  there  the  Pagans  yield ; 
By  thousands  fell  the  Saracens, 

By  thousands  fled  the  field. 


n6       HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

"  How  now ! "  said  Roland,  "  Oliver, 
How  say  you  now,  my  friend  ? 

Were  ever  better  vassals  known 

• 

Than  these  to  fight  and  fend  ?  " 

* 

So  said  he,  riding  o'er  the  field ; 

But  his  heart  began  to  ache, 
And  in  his  eyes  and  Oliver's 

The  tears  rose  as  he  spake : 

So  many  kinsmen  saw  they  dead, 

So  dark  forebodings  rose, 
For  well  they  knew  that  morning's  work 

Was  nowhere  near  its  close. 

Out  rang  the  Pagan  trumpets  loud, 
The  dragon-banners  stream ; 

On  came  the  King's  own  army  now, 
At  head  of  them  Abisme. 


HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

King's  favorite  he,  as  black  as  pitch, 
Fonder  of  blood  than  gold ; 

At  him,  swift  on  his  Polish  horse, 
Straight  rode  the  Archbishop  bold. 

And  clean  thro'  jewelled  shield  and  mail 
Clove  him  from  side  to  side — 

"  Full  safe  the  cross  is  in  the  care 
Of  Turpin  ! "  the  French  cried. 

Then  fierce  the  fight  was  all  around, 
Twice,  thrice  the  Pagans  stood 

Or  ere  they  fled — too  few  the  French 
For  such  a  multitude. 

And  fewer  and  fewer  still  they  grow ; 

Berenger's  with  the  slain, 
Samson  is  dead,  and  Angelier 

And  Gerer  and  Gerain. 


1 1 8       HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

II. 

Then  Roland  seeing  such  a  loss, 

(For  all  but  sixty  there 
O'  the  French  were  dead)  with  heavy  heart 

Called  out  to  Oliver : 

"For  God's  sake  see  how  many  knights, 

Dear  friend,  are  lying  low  ! 
Now  would  that  Charles  were  here  to  help ! 

How  shall  we  let  him  know  ?  " 

Said  Oliver,  "  I  know  not  how ; 

No,  and  I  cannot,  I ! 
Better  than  come  to  such  a  shame 

Twere  for  us  all  to  die ! " 

Said  Roland  then,  "But  if  I  sound 

With  all  my  might  the  horn, 
Charles,  who  is  in  the  gates  of  Spain, 

Will  hear  it  and  return." 


HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

Said  Oliver,  "  And  if  you  do, 

It  will  be  such  a  shame, 
As  will  outlast  your  kinsmen  all, 

And  blemish  all  you  name. 

"  You  would  not  sound  it  in  the  first 

Of  this  unequal  fight, 
Ere  fell  so  many  a  baron  brave, 

So  many  a  noble  knight ; 

"You  were  too  fond  of  glory  then, 

As  now  of  shame,"  he  said, 
"We  are  too  few  to  call  for  help 

Among  so  many  dead!" 

Said  Roland  then,  "  Old  friend  of  mine, 
Why  are  you  wroth  with  me  ?  " 

"  Comrade,  because  it  is  your  fault," 
He  answered  bitterly. 


120       HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

"  Brave  knights  are  dead  for  you  to-day, 
And  you  yourself  must  die, 

And  France  be  shamed ;  to-day  is  gone 
The  Loyal  Company!" 

But  Turpin  heard  them  and  rode  up ; 

"  Cease  wrangling,  Sirs,  for  shame  ! 
The  horn  can  help  us  nothing  now, 

Yet  blow  it  all  the  same. 

"'Tis  better  that  the  King  should  come, 

He  can  avenge  us  then 
Upon  these  Pagans,  who  must  not 

Be  let  go  home  again. 

41  For  us — upon  a  famous  field 

Dead  shall  he  find  us  here, 
In  time  to  bury  us  before 

The  wolf  and  kite  appear." 


HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN.       I2i 

"  Well  said,"  said  Roland,  and  at  once 

(Till  from  his  mouth  outflow 
The  bright  red  blood,  and  well  nigh  burst 

His  temples  were)  he  blew. 

He  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  long, 

Or  ere  his  breath  was  spent, 
O'er  wood  and  stream  for  thirty  leagues 

It  sounded  and  it  went. 

Charles  heard  it  sounding  loud  and  long, 

And  all  his  companies ; 
"  Long  breath  that  horn  has !"  said  the  King, 

"  I  know  whose  horn  it  is ! 

"  'Tis  Roland's  horn,  ne'er  would  it  sound 

. 

But  in  the  midst  of  fight. 
My  men  do  battle ;  cry  my  cry ! 
Bear  succour  to  my  knights ! " 


122       HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

They  turn  in  haste,  they  ride  in  haste, 
And  loud  the  trumpets  blow ; 

They  ride  in  grief,  they  ride  in  wrath, 
Too  far  off  is  the  foe. 

And  swift  the  streams,  and  deep  the  vales 
And  hard  the  hills  to  climb: 

Ride  as  they  will,  ride  as  they  may 
They  cannot  be  in  time. 

But  Roland  looking  round  the  field 

'Gan,  like  a  gentle  knight, 
Lamenting  for  the  many  dead 

Of  that  unequal  fight — 

"  Lord  Barons,  Lord  have  mercy  now 
On  all  your  souls,"  he  saith, 

"  Ne'er  knew  I  better  men  than  you, 
True  vassals  to  the  death  ! 


HOW  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

"So  many  lands  ye  won  for  Charles, 
Such  fame  for  France  before ! 

O,  land  of  France,  God  save  you  now ! 
We  shall  not  see  you  more. 

"  Here  shall  we  have  our  martyrdom, — 

But  it  shall  cost  them  dear ! 
Together  then,  and  such  a  death 

Let  ours  be  now  and  here, 

"That  fair  France  be  not  shamed  by  us. 

And  when  the  King  anon 
Here  finds  us  dead,  among  a  host 

Of  foes  fifteen  for  one, 

"  He  will  not  fail  to  bless  us  all 

For  such  a  stubborn  fight," 
So  said  he,  and  straight  went  afield 

With  Durandal  the  bright. 


124      IIOIV  ROLAND  BLEW  THE  HORN. 

And  at  his  words  the  French  again 

Monjoie  /  began  to  cry, 
And  strike  and  spare  not,  desperately, 

Well  knowing  they  must  die. 


GUDRUN. 

(See  Liidlows  "Popular  Epics"  and  (Miss  Leatherbrom' s)    "  The 
Chronicle  of  Gudrun") 

I. 

T  LL  counsel  gave  the  cruel  Queen 

Gerlinta  to  her  son 

Hartmut,  who  wooed  Gudrun  in  vain, 
Gudrun  whom  Herwig  won  : 

"To  Hegelingen  twice  you  have  been 
Where  Hettel  swells  with  pride, 

And  twice  your  suit  that  haughty  king 
Too  scornfully  denied. 


i26  GUDRUN. 

"  If  you  must  love  Gudrun,  I  say 

Woo  her  and  win  her  too. 
Take  ships  of  war  and  men-at-arms 

When  next  you  go  to  woo. 

"  Herwig  by  Seyfrit  hard  beset 

Has  sent  for  Hettel's  aid, 
And  Hettel  now  is  on  the  way 

To  Seeland  it  is  said. 

"And  with  him  grim  old  Wate  and  Frut 

And  Horant  all  are  gone. 
With  boys  and  women  and  old  men 

Queen  Hilda  keeps  the  town. 

"To  Matalan  then,  and  take  your  bride 

And  your  revenge  in  one ; 
Gudrun  will  like  you  well  enough 

When  once  the  deed  is  done." 


GUDRUN,  127 

They  bore  her  off  to  Ormandie, 

Her  and  her  ladies  fair. 
Sometime  no  meaner  than  a  Queen 

She  lived  among  them  there. 

But  evermore  Prince  Hartmut  strove 

In  vain  to  move  her  heart, 
Till  said  the  wicked  Queen,  "  Enough ! 

Now  let  me  do  my  part ! 

"  Here  have  you  served  her  like  a  Queen, 

But  know  you  who  she  is  ? 
King  Hettel's  daughter,  Hilda's  child, 

Proudest  of  princesses. 

"  And  yet  what  is  she  but  a  thrall  ? 

Now  let  her  learn  her  place. 
To  a  servant-maid  a  Prince's  love 

Will  hardly  seem  disgrace ! " 


128  GUDRUN. 

"Do  with  her  what  you  will,"  he  said, 

"  But  treat  her  kindly  too, 
Already  I  half  begin  to  wish 

'Twere  a  deed  I  could  undo." 

So  ill  at  ease  he  went  away 

To  war  in  another  land, 
And  then  the  Queen  opprest  Gudrun 

With  a  hard  and  heavy  hand. 

She  took  away  her  ladies  all, 

Save  Hildeburg  the  fair. 
Two  years  they  swept  the  chambers  out, 

And  dusted  them  with  their  hair ; 
Coarse  were  the  scanty  clothes  they  wore, 

And  their  feet  were  always  bare. 

And  oft  Gerlinta  tempted  her, 

"  If  you  will  you  may  be  a  Queen." 


CUD  RUN.  I29 

But  ever  again  she  answered  her, 

"I  will  be  what  I  have  been, 
A  faithful  love  to  my  only  love, 

And  I  trust  to  be  his  Queen." 

And  oft  and  oft  she  taunted  her, 

"  Your  Herwig  must  be  dead, 
Or  may  be  now  some  happier  maid 

Has  wedded  or  will  wed : 
Else  why  has  he  never  come  for  you  ?  " 

"  He  will  come  yet,"  she  said, 

"  And  I  shall  live  to  see  him  come 

Though  I  die  that  very  day  !  " 
"  I  would  I  had  never  seen  your  face ! " 

"  Aye,  so  you  then  will  say ! " 

A  hateful  woman  was  the  Queen 
As  she  left  the  lovely  maid, 


130  GUDRUN. 

And  crueller  yet  she  treated  her, 
For  she  'gan  to  be  afraid. 

Summer  and  winter,  well  or  ill, 
For  a  weary  year  and  more, 

She  made  Gudrun  and  Hildeburg 
Wash  clothes  upon  the  shore : 

Yet  none  the  less  Gudrun  was  true 
To  the  love  she  loved  before. 


GUDRUN. 


II. 

The  wild  March  winds  were  blowing  cold, 
The  grass  was  flecked  with  snow, 

And  yet  these  maidens  in  their  shifts, 
With  naked  feet  must  go 

Once  more  to  wash  along  the  shore, 

So  Queen  Gerlinta  said, 
For  now  perplexed  with  hate  and  fear 

She  'gan  to  wish  them  dead. 

Gudrun  looked  o'er  the  windy  waves, 

Her  look  became  a  stare : 
What  is  it  that  she  thinks  she  sees 

Among  the  white-caps  there ! 

"  Look  up,  look  up,  dear  Hildeburg ! 
Look !  there  again  it  rose, 


I32 


GUDRUN. 

O  is't  a  boat  or  is't  a  fish 
That  goes  and  comes  and  goes  ? 

"Last  night  I  dreamed  the  heroes  all 
Took  ship  and  sailed  away, 

At  last  to  take  us  home  again. 
Oh  if  it  should  be  they ! " 

"A  boat,  a  boat!  I  saw  the  flash 

Of  oars,  and  there  again, 
Look  how  it  overrides  the  waves, 

Tis  rowed  by  mighty  men." 

From  height  to  hollow  on  it  came, 
They  watched  it  coming  on. 

"  Two  knights  they  are,  I  see  the  gleam 
Of  armour  in  the  sun. 

"I  know  the  fashion  of  their  helms, 
I  know  their  colours  too ; 


GUDRUN.  133 

Queen  Hilda's  messengers  they  are, 
My  dream  is  coming  true." 

She  stood  a  moment  flushed  with  hope, 

Nearer  the  rowers  came, 
Then  suddenly  from  neck  to  brow 

Bright  colour  ran  like  flame ; 
"  Half-clad,  bare-footed,  washing  clothes — 

Nay,  I  should  die  of  shame ! " 

She  turned  away  with  Hildeburg, 
The  boat's  prow  touched  the  sand, 

Outsprang  the  younger  knight  and  called 
Gaily  with  voice  and  hand : — 

"  Nay,  fly  not,  maidens,  fear  us  not, 

Come  back  and  give  us  speech, 
Or  never  hope  to  have  again 

These  garments  on  the  beach." 


134  GUDRUN. 

Yet  still  they  fled,  more  gently  then 

They  heard  the  other  say : — 
"Nay,  maidens,  wait  for  courtesy 

And  give  us  speech,  we  pray ; 
Here  are  we  strangers  in  the  land, 

And  need  your  help  to-day." 

Still  stopped  Gudrun.     "  Such  courteous  words," 

She  said  with  sudden  tears, 
"  Except  from  you,  dear  Hildeburg, 

I  have  not  heard  for  years." 

Still  stopped  the  maid.     The  knights  came  up, 

Much  wondered  they  to  see 
Such  loveliness,  so  meanly  clad, 

Such  graceful  poverty. 

Loose  in  the  wild  March  winds  their  hair, 
Golden  and  long,  was  blown  ; 


GUDRUN.  I35 

Soft  through  the  thin  wet  clinging  gowns 
Their  lovely  bodies  shone. 

Said   the  younger  knight:    "Whose   clothes  are 
these 

Ye  wash  upon  the  shore  ? 
Such  washer-women  all  my  life 

I  never  saw  before. 

"  So  fair  ye  are,  who  wrongs  you  thus  ? 

Rich  must  your  master  be. 
Whose  is  this  land,  and  whose  is  this 

Fair  city  that  I  see  ? 
'Twere  a  right  good  deed,  I  say,  to  take 

Such  a  town  from  such  as  he ! " 

"Tis  Hartmut's  city,  Ludwig's  son, 

And  there  his  captains  are, 
With  eighty  hundred  men-at  arms, 

Ready  and  fit  for  war. 


136  CUD  RUN. 

Said  the  other  knight,  "Thus  always  armed, 

Of  whom  are  they  afraid  ?  " 
"From  Hegelingen  foes  they  fear 

Whose  wrath  is  long  delayed," 

She  said,  and  shivered  with  the  cold. 

Said  the  elder,  speaking  low, 
"  Why  should  it  shame  you,  noble  maids, 

To  wear  our  mantles  now  ?  " 

But  with  a  blush  Gudrun  drew  back, 

"  Nay,  ne'er  shall  it  be  told 
That  ever  I  put  men's  garments  on 

Though  it  were  twice  as  cold." 

"  So  proud  in  all  her  misery," 

Said  the  elder  knight  aside, 
"  Ne'er  saw  I  maid  so  fair,  save  her 

Who  should  have  been  my  bride." 


GUDRUN.  137 

Said  the  other,  "  Have  you  ever  heard 

That  once  an  army  came 
With  many  captive  maidens  here  ? 

Gudrun  was  one  maid's  name." 

"  Yes,  such  a  host  came  here  to  land ; 

'Twas  long  ago,"  she  said, 
"She  whom  you  call  Gudrun  I  saw 

Late  labouring  for  her  bread." 

"  If  anywhere  on  earth  alive, 

Gudrun  your  sister,  be, 
Now,  Ortwein,  this  is  she  herself," 

Cried  the  elder,  suddenly, 
"  Ne'er  saw  I  one  so  like  to  her, 

It  is,  it  must  be  she!" 

She  heard  the  name;  "And  you,"  she  said, 
"  Most  strangely  like  are  you, 


138  GUDRUN. 

But  for  your  beard,  to  a  noble  knight, 
Whom  long  ago  I  knew. 


"  Herwig  of  Seeland.     He  is  dead 
Or  long  ago  he  had  come, 

With  many  heroes  from  afar 
To  take  those  maidens  home. 


"  So  like  Gudrun  do  I  seem  to  you  ? 

Like  Herwig  you  to  me. 
But  he  is  dead,  and  she  is  dead, 

Dead  in  captivity." 


Tears  started  from  the  hero's  eyes, 
"She  was  my  wife,"  he  said. 

"Nay,"  cried  Gudrun,  "deceive  me  not, 
They  told  me  he  was  dead." 


GUDRUN.  I 

"  Dead  he  is  not  as  they  shall  find ; 

If  Herwig  e'er  you  knew 
In  Hegelingen,  look  at  this, 

This  ring  I  had  from  you, 

"For  you  are  Gudrun,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

She  lifted  up  her  hand, 
"  And  this,  who  gave  this  ring  to  her 

In  a  dear  and  distant  land  ?  " 

"  'Twas  I,"  he  said,  and  caught  her  hand 

And  drew  her  to  his  breast. 
No  word  she  spake,  but  in  his  arms 

Fluttered  and  lay  at  rest, 
Poor  weary  dove,  by  kite  and  crow 

Well  nigh  to  death  opprest. 


140 


CUD  RUN. 


III. 

"And  this  is  the  work  they  made  you  do," 

Said  Ortwein  in  a  rage. 
"Who  will  have  Queens  for  washer-maids 

Should  pay  a  goodly  wage ! " 

"And  so  they  shall !  But  come,  but  come !" 

Said  Herwig,  "  Let  us  go ! 
Our  work  is  done — we  must  not  be  seen 

Till  to-morrow  by  the  foe. 

"  Now  let  us  get  the  maids  aboard, 

And  back  to  camp  again." 
But,  "  Had  I  a  hundred  sisters  more," 

Said  Ortwein  hotly  then, 

"  I'd  liefer  they  all  were  dead  at  once 
Than  take  them  now  by  sleight. 


GUDRUN.  I4I 

It  shall  not  be  said  that  I  took  by  stealth 
What  was  ta'en  from  me  in  fight. 

"  As  they  took  them  there  I  will  take  them  here, 
In  a  storm  of  fight  they  were  ta'en, 

In  a  storm  of  fight  to-morrow  morn 
I  will  have  them  back  again !" 

"  Nay,  you  shall  have  your  full  of  fight," 

Said  Herwig,  "  and  right  soon. 
My  fear  is  that  they  may  suspect 

And  take  away  Gudrun 

"And  hide  her  somewhere  overnight 

And  so  foil  us  after  all." 
Said  Ortwein,  "  But  have  you  forgot 

That  her  ladies  are  in  thrall  ? 

"  She  shall  come  to  you  with  her  ladies  all 
As  befits  your  future  Queen." 


I42  GUDRUN. 

Gudrun  said,  "  Let  me  go  with  you, 
Long  has  my  waiting  been." 

"  Sister,  except  my  mother  dear 

No  woman  I  love  like  you ; 
But  bethink  you  now  whose  child  you  are, 

And  I  know  what  you  will  do." 
"You  are  right,"  she  said,  "I  will  wait  you  here, 

And  here  will  help  you  too. 

"They  might  suspect  your  coming  on 

Should  I  go  with  you  to-day, 
And  you  must  take  them  unawares 

And  be  certain  of  your  prey." 

Said  Herwig,  "  Dear,  to  leave  you  thus 

To  me  is  a  bitter  pain, 
But  I  trust  I  shall  not  fight  the  worse 

For  having  you  yet  to  gain." 


CUD  RUN.  143 

They  rowed  away  among  the  waves, 

They  soon  were  out  of  sight. 
"  O  Hildeburg !  "  she  wept  and  said, 

"  If  I  should  die  to-night ! " 

She  took  the  Queen's  clothes  in  her  arms, 

She  flung  them  on  the  wave. 
"Two  kings  have  kissed  me.     Nevermore 

Will  I  work  like  a  slave !  " 


GUDRUN. 


s 

IV. 
An  angry  woman  was  the  Queen, 

And  would  have  beat  Gudrun, 
When  empty-handed  from  the  shore 

She  came  that  afternoon. 


But  craftily  she  answered  her 
"  First  hear  what  I  would  say. 

For  Herwig  I  have  waited  long, 
My  waiting  ends  to-day. 


"Why  should  I  be  a  wretched  slave 
Who  am  a  Princess  born  ? 

Let  Hartmut  take  me  for  his  wife 
If  he  will  to-morrow  morn." 


CUD  RUN.  145 

Gerlinta  sighed,  as  if  a  weight 

Were  lifted  from  her  heart. 
"Gudrun,"  she  said,  "remember  this, 

That  Hartmut  took  your  part. 

For  certainly  he  loved  you  much, 

Too  much  I  used  to  say, 
And  long  ago  you  had  been  freed 

If  he  had  had  his  way. 

"  But  since  he  chose  to  love  you  so, 

I  swore  you  should  be  his. 
I  would  have  killed  you  with  my  hands 

Rather  than  fail  of  this. 

"  For  I  love  but  him,  and  I  love  him  more 

Than  ever  he  loved  you, 
Than  ever  he  loved  me  perhaps, 

And  so  I  dared  to  do, 


146  CUD  RUN. 

"  For  his  sake,  deeds  to  which  himself 
Would  first  have  said  '  For  shame,' 

Remember  this,  Gudrun,  'tis  I, 
I  only,  am  to  blame." 

She  sent  for  Hartmut.     Glad  was  he 
And  would  have  kissed  Gudrun, 

But,  "  I  am  but  a  servant  yet," 
She  answered  him  as  soon, 

"And  all  unfit  to  be  betrothed 

In  such  a  sorry  plight, 
But  give  me  my  rich  robes  again, 

And  all  my  jewels  bright, 

"And  let  me  have  my  ladies  all, 
All  well  attired  once  more, 

And  give  us  food  and  baths  and  beds 
As  rich  as  once  before. 


CUD  RUN. 

"For,  as  I  am  a  Princess  born, 

A  Princess  let  me  seem, 
Till  then  I  hardly  know  myself, 

All  seems  so  like  a  dream." 

They  gave  her  back  her  ladies  all, 
With  robes  and  jewels  bright ; 

Like  princesses  in  everything 
They  treated  them  that  night. 

To  the  sound  of  music  they  were  served 

With  costly  food  and  wine. 
Strange  was  the  taste  of  it  to  them 

On  a  crust  who  used  to  dine. 

And  when  to  sleep  they  would  be  gone 

The  minstrels  went  before, 
And  strange  the  rich  beds  felt  to  them 

Whose  bed  had  been  the  floor. 


I48  GUDRUN. 

But  when  they  all  were  left  alone, 

And  all  was  still  again, 
Gudrun  laughed  out,  who  in  that  land 

Had  never  laughed  till  then. 

Gerlinta  heard  her  in  the  hall, 

As  she  was  passing  by, 
And,  as  if  touched  by  an  icy  hand, 

Shuddered,  she  knew  not  why. 


GUDRUN.  149 


V. 

High  was  the  morning-star,  when  lo  ! 

A  fair  maid  looking  down 
Saw  glistening  helms  and  glistening  shields 

Encircling  all  the  town. 

Glad  to  Gudrun  she  brought  the  news 
"  Our  friends  are  close  at  hand, 

Look  out  and  see  them  on  the  sea 
And  see  them  on  the  land." 

She  looked  and  saw  the  swaying  ships, 

And  saw  the  colours  fly, 
And  saw  the  glistening  helms  and  shields, 

And  yet  she  gave  a  sigh. 


150  CUD  RUN. 

"  It  wrings  my  very  heart,"  she  said, 
"  To  see  them  there  so  gay, 

And  think  how  many  a  noble  knight 
Must  die  for  me  to-day." 

But  now  the  watcher  from  the  tower 

Aloud  began  to  call, 
"  Up,  up  and  arm  !     A  host  of  men 

Surround  us  like  a  wall." 

In  haste  came  Ludwig,  but  too  dim 
His  eyes  were  to  discern  ; 

But  Hartmut  knew  their  banners  all, 
And  named  them  all  in  turn. 

"  From  Hegelingen  they  are  come, 

I  know  their  flags  of  old : 
That  in  the  midst  is  Hilda's  flag, 
That  shines  all  over  gold. 


GUDRUN.  i 

"And  that  is  Ortwein's  to  the  right, 
With  crossed  swords  on  the  red ; 

And  left  is  Herwig's  mermaid  flag ; 
And  yonder  human  head 

"  On  brown  silk  broidered,  Seyfrit  owns ; 

Irolt's  is  gold  and  green ; 
And  that  one  on  whose  coal-black  ground 

A  flaming  town  is  seen 

"  Is  grey  old  Wate's,  the  grimmest  man 

That  ever  lived  so  long ; 
And  that  one  with  the  silver  harp 

Is  Horant's,  famed  for  song, 

"And  famed  for  fighting  none  the  less. 

Aye,  and  the  hawk  is  there 
Of  wily  Frut ;  and  yonder,  too, 

Is  Morung's  ramping  bear. 


1 52  GUDRUN. 

"  By  Heaven !  no  nobler  banners  fly 
Than  flout  us  there  this  morn, 

But  we  will  let  them  know  that  our's 
Is  not  a  flag  to  scorn. 

"Up  then,  and  arm,  and  out  at  once! 

I  will  not  have  them  say 
That,  when  they  asked  for  their  revenge, 

We  skulked  and  hid  away." 

So  said  he  ;  but  with  tearful  face 

Gerlinta  held  him  back. 
"Strong  are  the  gates,  and  strong  the  walls, 

No  victual  do  we  lack, 

"And  darts  and  missiles  are  at  hand 

In  every  tower  and  roof. 
Bid  shut  the  gates  and  man  the  walls, 

And  keep  the  foe  aloof, — 


GUDRUN.  IS3 

"  So  shall  we  wear  them  out  at  last 

And  see  them  sail  away. 
But  as  you  love  me,  dear  my  son, 

Go  not  afield  to-day. 

"  111  dreams  I  dreamed  of  you  all  night. 

Promise  me  not  to  go ! " 
But  angrily  he  answered  her, 

"  One  thing  full  well  I  know, 

"  I  have  had  enough  of  your  advice, 

Now  I  will  take  my  own. 
I  say  I  will  fight  the  foe  afield 

If  I  have  to  fight  alone." 

"  Come  on ! "  said  Ludwig.     Forth  they  went 

With  thirty  hundred  men. 
"  The  fools ! "  said  Wate,  "  they  are  coming  out, 

They  shall  not  go  in  again."    , 


GUDRUN. 

Once,  twice  and  thrice  he  blew  his  horn, 

Right  lustily  he  blew. 
With  glancing  arms  and  flags  afloat 

The  hosts  together  drew. 

Ortwein  and  Hartmut  first  engaged. 

Both  lances  crashed  like  one. 
And  reeling  backward  either  knight 

Was  well-nigh  overthrown. 

Down  from  their  trembling  horses  then 
Bare  sword  in  hand  they  sprang. 

Hot  Ortwein  first  struck  out  and  missed, 
Then  felt  a  sudden  pang 

As  Hartmut  pierced  him  in  the  side 

And  called  on  him  to  yield. 
But  Horant  rushing  in  between 

Covered  him  with  his  shield 


GUDRUN.  I55 

And  on  his  own  unguarded  arm 
Caught  Hartmut's  second  stroke, 

Which  numbed  him  so  he  dropped  his  sword, 
And  but  that  now  his  folk 

Ran  in  and  dragged  him  from  the  fight, 

Enraged  and  out  of  breath 
All  weaponless  as  there  he  stood 

He  there  had  had  his  death. 

Meantime  no  better  Herwig  fared, 

'Gainst  Ludwig  riding  fell, 
Hurled  from  his  horse,  and  just  in  time 

Borne  off  insensible. 

But  in  the  centre  grim  old  Wate 

And  Frut  and  Morung  now 
Led  on  their  men,  and  like  a  wind 

That  makes  the  wheat-fields  bow 


156  GUDRUN. 

So  raged  the  Hegelingen  men 

'Gainst  those  of  Ormandie  : 
They  cut  them  down  and  rode  them  down 

And  drove  them  furiously. 

They  drove  them  backward  to  the  wall 

And  there,  obliged  to  stand, 
Fierce  was  the  fight  to  get  control 

Of  the  gates  on  either  hand. 

The  west  gate  Ortwein  took  and  held 
As  fierce  as  Wate  for  shame ; 

Horant  the  east ;  but  in  the  midst 
The  banners  went  and  came. 

There  Ludwig  fought  with  Wate  and  Frut, 

Expecting  Hartmut's  aid 
To  enter  in  and  hold  the  town, 

With  bolt  and  barricade. 


CUD  RUN. 

But  now  recovered  from  his  swoon, 

And  desperately  in  wrath, 
Came  Herwig,  forcing  friend  and  foe 

To  open  him  a  path, 

Till  once  more  face  to  face  he  stood 
With  Ludwig,  sword  in  hand, 

And  at  the  sight  of  him  half  laughed, 
And  felt  his  heart  expand, 

With  hope  to  wipe  away  the  shame 

Of  his  unlucky  fall, 
And  get  him  glory  and  Gudrun, 

Right  there  before  them  all. 

'Twas  not  an  easy  thing  to  do. 

Twice  he  was  touched  and  bled. 
And  when  with  one  two-handed  stroke 

'Gainst  Ludwig's  helm  and  head 


GUDRUN. 

He  got  a  chance  to  bring  his  sword 

It  broke  off  in  his  hand. 
But  such  a  downright  stroke  it  was 

It  forced  the  King  to  stand 

Till  Herwig  got  his  battle-axe 

And  swiftly  coming  on, 
'Twixt  neck  and  shoulder-blade  aslant, 

With  a  death-blow  brought  it  down. 

So  Ludwig  died.     And  Hartmut  now 
With  his  troop  came  on  in  vain. 

One  charge  he  made  and  was  driven  back, 
And  the  middle  gate  was  ta'en. 

But  like  a  man  who  longs  to  die, 

Who  yet  would  die  a  man, 
At  grim  old  Wate,  without  a  word, 

With  lifted  sword  he  ran, 


GUDRUN.  I 

And  dealt  the  old  fighter  such  a  blow 

Beneath  the  uplifted  arm, 
As  made  him  start  aside,  and  pause 

From  urging  on  the  swarm 

Of  Hegelingen  men  that  now 
Thro'  the  gates  began  to  throng. 

Right  well  the  young  man  bore  himself, 
But  the  fight  could  not  be  long. 

Sore  hurt  Wate  brought  him  to  his  knees, 
And  swift,  with  dagger  drawn, 

Sprang  at  his  throat.     But  now  the  Queen 
Who  ever  since  the  dawn 

Had  watched  the  progress  of  the  fight, 

And  seen  her  foes  prevail, 
Seen  Ludwig  perish,  and  the  force 

Of  all  his  army  fail, 


160  GUDRUN. 

Bethought  her,  white  with  grief  and  rage, 

"  But  I  will  foil  them  yet. 
They  may  take  the  cage  that  held  the  bird 

But  the  bird  they  shall  not  get." 

She  called  a  churl,  "  You  know  Gudrun. 

Be  speedy  and  be  bold  : 
Go  strike  me  off  her  head,  and  win 

A  helmet  full  of  gold." 

The  wretch  ran  eager  to  the  hall 
Where  with  her  maids  apart, 

Gudrun  sat  watchful  of  the  fight, 
Both  glad  and  sad  at  heart. 

By  the  window  where  she  sat  to  watch 

He  took  her  unaware. 
Loud  screamed  she  like  a  peasant-maid 

As  he  seized  her  by  the  hair. 


GUDRUN.  j6 

Old  Wate  half  shuddered,  and  struck  wide, 

Amazed  at  such  a  cry. 
Said  Hartmut,  "  Tis  Gudrun  that  calls, 

As  if  about  to  die." 

Quick  to  his  feet  he  sprang  and  looked, 
And  called  with  all  his  breath, 

"  'Tis  Hartmut  says  it,  harm  her  not 
Or  die  a  dreadful  death ! " 

The  coward  knew  his  Prince's  voice 

And  quickly  turned  away. 
Old  Wate  growled  out,  "That  lucky  call 

Has  saved  your  life  to-day." 

Nought  Hartmut  answered,  growing  faint, 

And  with  an  aching  heart, 
But  let  himself  be  carried  off 

To  a  leech's  tent  apart. 


1 62  GUDRUN. 

Meantime  the  Hegelingen  men 

Had  all  the  city  ta'en, 
Except  the  palace ;  there  the  Queen 

Kept  up  a  deadly  rain, 

Of  boiling  pitch  and  stones  and  darts 
From  many  a  tower  and  roof, 

Encouraging  what  men  she  had 
To  keep  the  foe  aloof 

A  little  longer  from  the  doors 
They  fain  would  batter  down. 

There  old  Wate  found  them  at  a  stand, 
And  with  a  scornful  frown, 

Shield  over  head  and  axe  in  hand 

Ran  swift  as  any  lad, 
And  'gan  to  thunder  at  the  door, 

And  soon  such  help  he  had 


GUDRUN. 

From  many  a  well-swung  battle-axe 
And  many  a  well-put  stone 

That  spite  of  everything  the  doors 
Were  quickly  overthrown. 

That  ended  it.     The  topmost  tower 

Soon  Hilda's  banner  bore. 
Soon  Herwig  had  his  love  again, 

To  part  from  her  no  more. 

But  sword  in  hand,  unresting  still, 
Old  Wate  went  here  and  there. 

"Will  no  one  tell  me  where  she  is, 
That  Queen  who  loves  to  wear 

Clothes  whitened  by  no  meaner  hands 
Than  those  of  Princesses  ?  " 

A  fair  maid,  winking  with  her  eyes, 
Made  signal  "There  she  is." 


1 64  GUDRUX. 

"Are  you  Gerlinta?"     "I  am  she, 
And  I  know  who  you  are  too. 

Do  what  you  will.     'Twill  be  no  worse 
Than  I  would  have  done  to  you." 

He  took  her  by  the  long  gray  hair, 
She  neither  shrank  nor  cried. 

A  single  blow  was  all  he  gave, 
And  so  Gerlinta  died. 

So  died  Gerlinta.     Much  she  loved, 
Much  may  she  be  forgiven. 

But  if  love  alone  can  save  from  Hell, 
Few  folk  will  fail  of  Heaven. 


A  SONG   FOR   LEXINGTON. 

r  I  "'HE  Spring  came  earlier  on 

Than  usual  that  year ; 
The  shadiest  snow  was  gone, 
The  slowest  brook  was  clear, 
And  warming  in  the  sun 
Shy  flowers  began  to  peer. 

'Twas  more  like  middle  May, 
The  earth  so  seemed  to  thrive, 
That  Nineteenth  April  day 
Of  Seventeen  Seventy-Five ; 
Winter  was  well  away, 
New  England  was  alive ! 


1 66  A  SONG  FOR  LEXINGTON. 

Alive  and  sternly  glad! 

Her  doubts  were  with  the  snow; 

Her  courage,  long  forbade, 

Ran  full  to  overflow ; 

And  every  hope  she  had 

Began  to  bud  and  grow. 

She  rose  betimes  that  morn 
For  there  was  work  to  do ; 
A  planting,  not  of  corn, 
Of  what  she  hardly  knew, — 
Blessings  for  men  unborn  ; 
And  well  she  did  it  too ! 

With  open  hand  she  stood, 
And  sowed  for  all  the  years, 
And  watered  it  with  blood, 
And  watered  it  with  tears, 
The  seed  of  quickening  food 
For  both  the  hemispheres. 


A  SONG  FOR  LEXINGTON.  167 

This  was  the  planting  done 
That  April  morn  of  fame, 
Honour  to  every  one 
To  that  seed-field  that  came ! 
Honour  to  Lexington, 
Our  first  immortal  name ! 


THE    RETURN    OF    PARIS. 

T   STUMBLED  thrice,  and  twice  I  fell  and  lay 
-*•   Moaning  and  faint,  and  yet  I  did  not  pray 
To  any  God  or  Goddess  of  them  all; 
Because  I  never  doubted,  climb  or  crawl, 
That  I  should  reach  the  fountain  and  the  tall 
One  old  familiar  pine-tree,  where  I  lay 
Prone  on  my  face,  with  outstretched  hands,  you 

say, 

Fallen  once  again — this  time  against  the  goal. 
And  now,  what  shall  I  pray  for  ?  since  my  whole 
Wish  is  accomplished,  and  I  have  your  face 
Once  more  by  mine  in  the  remembered  place, 
And  the  cool  hand  laid  on  my  head  aright, 
A  little  while  before  I  die  to-night. 


172 


THE  RETURN  OF  PARIS. 


For  surely  I  am  dying :   not  a  vein 
But  has  received  the  poison  and  the  pain 
Of  Philoctetes'  arrow. — Oh  !  I  heard 
The  hissing  of  the  vengeance  long  deferred, 
And  felt  it  smite  me,  and  not  smite  me  dead  ; 
And  all  at  once  the  very  words  you  said 
Too  long  ago  returned  to  me  once  more — 
When,  as  you  shall  be,  you  are  wounded  sore, 
Come  back  to  me,  and  I  will  cure  you  then, 
WJwm  none  but  I  can  cure :  and  once  again, 
Sweet !  I  am  with  you,  and  am  cured  by  you, 
And  by  you  only;  and  yet  it  is  true 
That  I  must  die,  CEnone.     So  it  is, 
And  better  that  it  is  so  !     Hark  to  this. 
How  good  it  were,  if  we  could  live  once  mort 
The  old  sweet  life  we  found  so  sweet  before — 
Here  in  the  mountain  where  we  were  so  glad, 
Ere  I  was  cruel  and  ere  you  were  sad ! 
How  good  it  were  could  we  begin  again 
The  old  sweet  life  just  where  we  left  it  then  ! 


THE  RETURN  OF  PARIS.  173 

A  song,  love  ; — but  my  singing  voice  is   gone — 

The  one  song  that  I  made,  the  only  one 

After  I  left  you  to  be  mad  so  long  ; 

(A  marvellous  thing  to  have  made  no  other  song  !) 

The  only  one — which,  many  months  ago, 

Came  to  me  strangely  with  a  soft  and  slow 

Movement  of  music,  which  at  first  was  sad, 

But  sad  and  sweet,  and  after  only  sad, 

And  then  most  bitter,  as  its  death  gave  birth 

To  a  low  laughter  of  uneasy  mirth — 

Made  of  blent  noises  that  the  night-winds  bore, 

JThe  lapse  of  waves  upon  the  dusky  shore, 

The  creaking  of  the  tackle,  and  the  stir 

Of  threatening  banners  where  the  camp-fires  were 

About  the  armies,  that  no  such  a  charm 

As  a  regretful  love-song  could  disarm, 

And  bring  to  life  the  heroes  that  were  slain, 

And  make  the  war  as  if  it  were  a  vain 

Noise  in  the  night  that  at  the  morn  is  not, 

And  all  the  Past  a  dream  that  it  begot. 


T74  THE  RETURN  OF  PARIS. 

The  wind  was  right  to  laugh  my  song  away  ! 

And  then  I  thought — if  only  for  a  day 
I  might  be  with  her,  only  for  so  long 
As  to  be  pardoned  or  (forgive  the  wrong) 
Cursed  by  her  there,  and  so  get  leave  to  die  ! 
And  here  we  are,  CEnone,  you  and  I  ! 
Yes,  we  are  here  !  why  ever  otherwhere  ? 

Ah  !  why  indeed  ?     And  yet,  love,  let  me  dare 
Uncover  my  whole  heart  to  you  once  more ; 

I  think  I  never  was  so  blest  before — 

i 

Never  so  happy  as  I  am  to  day. 

Not  even,  indeed,  when  in  the  early  May 

We  found  each  other,  and  were  quite  too  glad 

To  know  the  value  of  the  love  we  had. 

But  now  I  seem  to  know  it  in  my  need, 

Inhaling  the  full  sweetness  of  it — freed 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  from  its  perfect  flower ; 

Ah !  quite  too  sweet  to  overlast  its  hour  ! 


THE  RETURN  OF  PARIS.  175 

What  more  now  shall  I  pray  for?  To  be  let 
Live  and  not  die  ?   Ah !  if  we  could  forget 
All  but  the  Present  and  outlaw  the  Past ! 
And  yet  I  know  not — could  the  Present  last 
If  quite  cut  off  from  all  that  gave  it  birth, 
And  not  be  changed,  if  changed  to  alien  earth, 
Into  a  Future  that  we  know  not  of? 
We  will   not  ask  :  we  have  attained  to  Love — 
Whatever  grown  from — which  not  all  the  years 
Past  or  to  come,  nor  memories  nor  fears, 
Can  rob  us  of  forever,  nor  make  less. 
No  praying  then — but  only  thankfulness ! 

No  sound  floats  hither  from  the  smoky  plain  : 
Turn  me  a  little — never  mind  the  pain — 
I  see  it  now.     And  that  was  Ilion  then  ! 
The  accursed  city  in  the  mouths  of  men, 
Whose  mouths  are  swift  to  interweave  its  name 
With  mine  forever  for  a  word  of  shame. 
I  never  loved  it,  and  it  loved  me  not — 


17^  THE  RETURN   OF  PARIS. 

The  fatal  firebrand  that  itself  begot 

And   tried   to   quench   and   could    not — there   it 

smokes ! 

And  there  the  shed  blood  of  its  people  soaks 
Into  the  soil  that  they  loved  more  than  life. 

Let  the  Gods  answer,  who  decreed  the  strife  ! 
But  you,  great-hearted,  whom  indeed  I  loved — 
Brother  and  friend,  by  whom,  if  unapproved, 
I  was  loved  sometime  in  the  upper  air — 
Will  you  turn  from  me  when  I  meet  you  there 
And  greet  you,  Hector,  in  the  other  world? 
Will  you  turn  from  me,  with  lip  coldly  curled, 
And  frank  eyes  hardened? — 

I  accept  the  sign  i 

Lo  you  !    CEnone,  where  the  gloomy  line 
Of  the  slow  clouds  is  broken,  and  a  bright 
Gleam,  like  a  smile,  steals  softly  into  sight 
And  grows  to  a  glory  in  the  increasing  sky  ! 


THE  RETURN  OF  PARIS.  i?7 

Nay,  you  are  right,  love!    What  have  you  and  I 
To  do  with  Past  or  Future,  who  have  for  boon 
So  rich  a  Present,  to  exhaust  so  soon 
Between  the  daylight  and  the  afterglow? 

M 

The  last  cloud  passes,  and  how  calm  I  grow! 
And  now— if  I  should  close  my  eyes,  my  love, 
And  seem  to  sleep  a  little,  and  not  move 
Until  the  sky  has  got  its  perfect  gold, 
You  will  not  think  me  dying  while  I  hold 
Your  hand  thus  closely?    Kiss  me  now.     Again! 
Past   chance   of  change — just   where    we    left   it 
then. 

CENONE. 

I  had  him  last  1    I  had  him  first  and  last ! 
His  morning  beauty  and  his  evening  charm! 
Oh,  Love  !  triumphant  over  all  the  Past, 
What    Death    can    daunt    you,    or    what    Future 
harm  ? 


A 


SONG. 

N  under-doud  that  half  reveals, 

, 
Half  hides  a  splendid  star  ; 


(Even  then  more  clear  than  others  are, 

As  always  qtieenlier.) 
Such  was  my  love  to  her. 

A  wilting  wind  that  bends  a  rose 

Not  very  long  nor  far ; 
(Even  then  more  fresh  than  others  arc, 

As  always  lovelier.) 
Such  was  my  love  to  her. 

O  star  of  stars,  as  clear  and  high  ! 

O  rose  of  roses,  none  the  less  ! 
The  cloud  is  blown  out  of  the  sky, 

The  wind  is  in  the  wilderness. 


KING 

(A  Fragment.) 

T  T  was  a  day  of  light ;  the  gracious  sun 

Filled  full  of  light  the  insatiate  Autumn  air, 
And  streamed  in  splendour  on  the  exulting  sea, 
Till  the  low  waves,  blent  by  the  rippling  breeze, 
Near  by  showed  blinding  silver — but  beyond, 
The  laughter  of  innumerable  eyes 
That  winked  in  an  embarrassment  of  joy. 
Above,  the  undazzled  sky  was  calm,  was  blue, 
With  here  and  there  a  lonely  dimpled  cloud, 
White  as  the  flying  sea-foam  whence  it  sprang — 
Slow  wandering  noiseless  on  its  dreamy  way, 
Half  heedless  of  the  embracing  wind's  desire  ; 


iSo  KING  &GEUS. 

And  on  the  land  the  sun  smiled  joyously, 

The    green    fields    took    a    brighter    green,    the 

grain 

Rose  panting  broadly  to  the  genial  light, 
And  bending  low,  returned  the  golden  smile ; 
All  things  were  overfull  of  happy  life, 
And  all  the  mingled  noises  in  the  air 
Seemed  vainly  murmuring  of  the  joy  of  earth  : 
Alone  amid  them  all,  the  sad  old  king 
Sat  listening,  and  heard  nothing  but  a  sound 
Of  quivering  silence  in  his  empty  ears — 
Sat  looking,  and  saw  nothing  but  a  want 
Of  anything  to  see  in  all  the  world, 
Unfilled  as  yet  by  any  little  sail. 


IN    CORINTH. 

T     ET  me  review  it  all  before  I  sleep ; 

I  am  still  too  happy  to  be  quiet  yet, 
And  grudge  to  give  one  morsel  of  my  joy, 
Unrelished  fully,  to  distorting  dreams, 
Or  mere  oblivion  :  let  me  taste  it  all 
Slowly  and  thankfully  from  end  to  end, 
And  then  the  last  before  the  final  sleep 
From  which  I  wake  to  wait  for  her  in  heaven  ; 
It  must  be  so,  I  feel  that  it  is  so. 

Before  I  ever  held  her  by  the  hand, 
Before  I  ever  called  her  by  her  name, 
Before  I  ever  looked  her  in  the  face 
I  knew  and  loved  her,  as  I  knew  and  loved 


1 82  IN  CORINTH. 

All  things  whose  loveliness  makes  men  despair — 

Despair  and  love,  and  never  quite  despair. 

And  when  I  met  her  first,  a  year  ago, 

And  heard  her  voice  and  saw  her  mouth  and  eyes. 

This  is  the  love  that  I  foresaw,  I  said, 

And  thrilled  with  joy  to  see  her  here  at  last ; 

Here  and  not  here — for,  when   I  looked  again, 

I  saw  the  place  she  stood  on,  far  aloof 

From  all  of  me  except  my  merest  dreams, 

And  scorned  my  littleness,  and  turned  away 

And  let  despair  instnict  me  how  to  love. 

But  no  despair  could  teach  me  to  forget, 

Nor  utterly  compel  me  to  its  will, 

While  yet  my  heart  was  tender  to  the  touch 

Of  influences  from  the  day  and  night, 

The  sunlight  and  the  starlight,  grass  and  trees, 

And  clouds  and  skies  and  waters,  for  the  charm 

With  which  all  these  allured  me  and  repelled, 


IN  CORINTH. 


'83 


And  saddened  me,  and  quickened  and  console'!, 
Still  led  me  in  a  circle  back  to  her 
To  whom  all  other  loveliness  referred. 

I  saw  her  very  seldom  in  my  life — 

Too  very  seldom,  as  I  used  to  say ; 

It  irked  me  bitterly  to  waste  the  days 

So  far  from  Corinth  and  the  sight  of  her. 

And  does  it  irk  me  now  to  think  of  this?'' 

And  shall  I,  as  I  used,  accuse  the  Past, 

And  count  it  lost  because  not  spent  with  her  ? 

If  I  had  seen  her  oftener,  perhaps 

It  might  have  been  far  otherwise  ;  but  now, 

How  is  it  now  ?  Is  it  not  perfect  now  ? 

I  would  not  have  it  otherwise. 

And  yet, 

Glad  as  I  am,  yes,  quite  content  and  glad — 
Perhaps,  indeed,  because  I  am  so  glad — 


184  IN  CORINTH. 

I  cannot  yet,  quite  yet,  forget  to  dream 

Of  all  that  might  have  been.     I  wish  I  knew 

More     of     that     Heaven    she     spoke     of.     But 

enough — 

It  is  enough ;  I  will  not  lose  in  dreams 
The  recollection  of  what  was  and  is. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  live  to-night ; 
To-day  is  mine  and  yesterday  is  mine, 
To-morrow  shall  ask  questions  of  itself. 

Day  before  yesterday  I  said,  'Tis  now 

A  month  since  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  her ; 

To-morrow  is  the  birth-day  of  my  love  : 

A  year  ago  to-morrow  I  first  saw 

And  loved  the  only  woman  in  the  world. 

She  surely  cannot  love  me ;  but  the  days 

Fall  from  my  life  like  withered  leaves,  and  soon 

What  freshness  will  be  left  of  all  my  youth? 

I  will  go  tell  her  all,  and  ask  her  leave 

At  least  to  be  permitted  to  outwear 


IN  CORINTH.  185 

My  life  in  some  impossible  attempt 
To  overcome  the  gulf  and  climb  the  height 
That  separates  me  from  her  ;  or  at  least, 
I  will  go  see  her  and  not  say  a  word, 
See  her  once  more  and  go  away  content, 
And  never  vex  her  after.     That  is  best — 
See  her  once  more  and  afterward  no  more. 
And  so  it  was  ;  I  saw  her  just  once  more. 
And  proved  my  love  instead  of  speaking  it. 

She  is  quite  safe,  I  know,  and  out  of  reach — 
Quite  out  of  reach  of  that  accursed — God ! 
That  I  could  kill  him  !  She  is  surely  safe. 
But  it  is  dreadful  to  remember  now 
How  slight  an  error  might  have  thwarted  all. 
But  I  was  certain  that  I  should  succeed — 
I  never  doubted  once. 

When  I  first  heard 
That   she  was  brought  before  that  beastly  Judge 


1 86  IN  CORINTH. 

For  blasphemy  against  his  foolish  gods, 
I    knew  what  I  was  born  for.     When  they  said, 
"'Tis  as  pretext,  this  charge  of  blasphemy, 
'Tis  not  the  first  time  he  has  played  this  game  " 
(I  hate  myself  that  it  is  not  the  last), 
"He  only  wants  to  force  her  to  his  will" — 
Not  even  then  I  doubted,  tho'  the  words 
Made  my  knees  shake.     I  did  not  doubt  at  all. 
But  waited. 

s 

In  the  afternoon  I  learned 

(Whether  made  blind  by  rage  or  keen  by  craft, 
What  matters  it?  I  thwarted  him  at  both), 
That  since  she  neither  would  deny  her  God 
Nor  take  such  pardon  as  he  offered  her, 
That  he  had  done  a  thing  impossible — 
Had  sent  her  to  a  brothel  with  command 
That  any  man  who  might  be  base  enough — 
I  hardly  can  believe  it  even  now  ! 


IN  CORINTH.  187 

I  bargained  for  and  bought  her  with  a  price. 

That  was  a  strange  and  bitter  thing  to  do  : 

For  every  coin  I  could  have  better  borne 

To  give  a  piece  of  my  indignant  heart. 

It  needed  all  the  love  I  had  for  her 

To  save  me  from  the  frenzy  of  remorse, 

And  shame  and    pain   which   would  have  ruined 

all. 

This  too  becomes  a  thing  incredible — 
A  tale,  a  dream — I  will  not  think  of  it. 

But  all  the  rest  of  it  is  sweet  and  good. 
All  was  arranged,  the  friends  and  horses  sure, 
The  dusk  excluded  and  the  stars  aloft, 
When  I  gave  over  watching  and  went  in 
And  found  her — on  the  birth-day  of  my  love, 
I  thought  of  that — and  as  she  raised  her  eyes, 
Not  shamefully  but  grandly,  all  the  place 
Seemed  changed  and  sacred — a  good  place  to  be  ; 


T88  IN  CORINTH. 

Not,  as  I  called  it  while  I  watched  outside, 
A  dung-hill  darkened  by  a  spotless  rose, 
Black  mire  made  blacker  by  a  speckless  pearl, 
Night's  gloom  made  gloomier  by  a  single  star, 
But  night  was  morn,  white  maible  was  the  mire 
And  the  dung-hill  a  garden  having  her. 

She  knew  me  in  a  moment,  took  my  hand 
And   said,      I    thought — I   knew  that  you  would 

come. 

What  must  we  do?"  I  told  her  all  the  plan. 
"  You  must  disguise  yourself  with  mask  and  cloak 
To  look  like  me ;  and  when  the  street  is  clear, 
Go' boldly  forth,  and  turning  to  the  right, 
Meet  and  be  safe  with  one  who  says  my  name." 
"  And  you  ?  " — "  I  wait  a  while  and  watch  my  chance 
To  join  you  afterward."     She  smiled  a  strange, 
Unnamable,  sweet,  melancholy  smile, 
And  seemed  to  muse  a  moment,  and  then  said, 


IN  CORINTH.  1 89 

"Yes,  you  are  right !"  and  then,  "You  too  believe, 
As  I  do,  that  we  meet  our  friends  in  Heaven, 
And  know  each  other  after  death,  my  friend? 
Stoop  down  a  little.     I  kiss  you  now   and  here, 
And  make  you  an  appointment." 

So  she  said. 

But  here  they  say,  that  I  must  fight   the  beasts 
To-morrow.     To-morrow  !  I  beat  them  yesterday. 


MEDUSA. 

S~~\  NE  calm  and  cloudless  winter  night, 

Under  a  moonless  sky — 
Whence  I  had  seen  the  gracious  light 
Of  sunset  fade  and  die, — 

I  stood  alone  a  little  space, 

Where  tree  nor  building  bars 
Its  outlook,  in  a  desert  place, 

The  best  to  see  the  stars. 

No  sound  was  in  the  frosty  air, 

No  light  below  the  skies ; 
I  looked  above,  and  unaware 

Looked  in  Medusa's  eyes  ; — 


MEDUSA. 

The  eyes  that  neither  laugh  nor  weep, 

That  neither  hope  nor  fear, 
That  neither  watch  nor  dream  nor  sleep, 

Nor  sympathize  nor  sneer. 

The  eyes  that  nor  reject  nor  choose, 

Nor  question  nor  reply, 
That  neither  pardon  nor  accuse, 

That  yield  not  nor  defy  ; 

The  eyes  that  hide  not  nor  reveal, 
That  trust  not  nor  betray  ; 

That  acquiesce  not  nor  appeal — 
The  eyes  that  never  pray. 

O  love  that  will  not  be  forgot ! 

O  love  that  leaves  alone  ! 
O  love  that  blinds  and  blesses  not ! 

O  love  that  turns  to  stone  ! 


A   WINTER   EVENING. 

Expecting  him,  her  fancy  talks 

(By  like  and  unlike  set  astir) 
Of  one  of  her  last  summer  walks 

To  where  he  sat  expecting  her. 

~\  T  7"E  had  no  sunset  here  to-day, 

Nor  are  there  any  stars  to-night ; 
But  all  above  was  pearly  gray 

And  all  beneath  was  silver  white  ; 
And  still  the  snow-flakes  fall  and  fall 

In  silence,  for  the  weary  breeze 
Is  sleeping,  and  no  noise  at  all 

Is  in  the  bushes  or  the   trees, 
On  which  the  snow  lies  like  white  moss, 

Too  light  to  bend  them ;  but  the  grass 
Must  be  quite  hidden  all  across 


A    WINTER  EVENING.  193 

The  meadow  through  which  he  will  pass 
Unheard,  unseen,  till  he  is  near 

The  lilac  sparkling  in  the  glow 
Of  this  my  little  lamp,  placed  here 

To  call  him  to  me  through  the  snow. 

'Tis  not  so  very  cold  without ; 

But  here  within  'tis  light  and  warm, 
The  hot  wood  murmurs,  wrapped  about 

By  lithe  long  flames  of  fickle  form  ; 
And  swiftly  running  on,  to  make 

Its  lurking  cuckoo  leap  and  laugh, 
The  clock's  incessant  chatterings  wake 

An  answering  echo  in  behalf 
Of  sweeter  noises  than  its  own  : 

Till,  hearing  them,  I  seem  to  see 
Once  more  the  meadows  overgrown 

With  waving  grass,  and  every  tree 
With  bright  green  leaves  well  woven  close 

To  take  the  sunlight,  and  the  wind 


A    WINTER  EVENING. 

Almost  to  take,  that  conies  and  goes 

And  never  quite  makes  up  its  mind. 
And  in  the  meadows  near  and  far, 

With  daisies  and  snapdragon  dight, 
Unanswerable  crickets  are 

Forever  singing  out  of  sight ; 
And  little  flickering  brooks  that  flow 

To  their  own  music   ever,  make 
For  me  a  music  that  I  know — 

How  well  indeed,  who  used  to  take 
The  path  so  often  close  beside 

The  brightest  of  them,   singing  past 
Well-watered  grass  on  either  side, 

Till,  o'er  the  little  bridge  at  last, 
Good-by  to  brook  and  path,  but  not 

Till,  spite  of  all  the  surly  bees 
That  grudge  the  treasure,  I  have  got 

As  many  ear-drops  as  I  please  : 
And  then  the  meadow  ('twas  a  sin 

To  flout  the  quiet  daisies  so), 


A    WINTER  EVENING.  Ig- 


With  scared  grasshoppers  out  and  in 

The  grasses  leaping  as  I  go ; 
Along  the  moss-grown  shaky  wall, 

Across  the  close-nipped  pasture  ground 
Where  only  mulleins  dare  grow  tall, 

And  blackberry  vines  creep  close  around 
The  gray-green  mossy  rocks  that  sleep 

Luxurious  in  the  flattering  light 
Of  sunshine  all  day  long,  and  keep 

Warm  sides  to  feel  of  in  the  night ; 
Past  patient  cows  that  mildly  gaze 

Upon  me  as  I  pass  them  by, 
And  stop  to  fix  a  lock  that  strays, 

And  startle  at  a  far-off  cry  ; — 
And  then  a  turn,  and  there  is  naught 

Between  me  and  the  place  I  know 
But  vines  and  bushes  interwrought 

To  make  a  screening  tangle  go 
About  a  green  and  golden  glade, 

Where  'neath  the  appointed  chestnut  tree 


196  A    WINTER  EVENING. 

And  quaintly  dappled  by  its  shade, 

Who  is  it  I  have  come  to  see  ? 
And  yet,  forsooth,  the  eager  eyes 

Must  cloud  a  little  and  go  astray 
A  moment  with  the  thoughts  that  rise 

Of  many  things,  and  will  have  way, 
Before  I  dare  to  draw  the  screen 

Of  interwoven  leaves  apart 
A  little  way,  and  peer  between, 

And  see  him,  with  as  full  a  heart — 

As  now  I  have  to  see  him  there, 
Behind  my  lilac  in  the  snow 

Peering  at  me,  and  with  an  air 
As  if  a  woman  would  not  know  ! 


SHADOWS. 

T  T  OW  good  it  is  to  see  once  more 

Green  grasses  turning  gray  before 
The  wilful  blowing  of  the  breeze  ; 
And  here  and  there  from  clouds  and  trees, 
Over  the  moving  meadow,  slow 
The  changing  shadows  glide  and  go  ! 

How  good  it  is !  but  as  before, 

No  summer  breezes  any  more 

Shall  blow  about  her  wayward  hair  ;    * 

Nor  any  summer  meadows  wear 

Her  passing  shadow,  passed  away 

With  half  the  brightness  of  the  day. 


A    CHANGE. 

T  T  E  said,  "  Dew  wets 
No  dearer  flowers 
Than  violets  : 

Thro'  long  Spring  hours 
The  wandering  bees 
Prove  all,  and  meet 
No  flowers  so  sweet." 

I  planted  these, 

Whose  perfumed  bloom, 
I'  thought  would  please  ; 

And  he,  for  whom 
I  bade  them  grow, — 
Loves  roses  now  ! 


A    CHANGE.  199 

God  pity  me ! 
I  cannot  see 

The  end  of  pain. 
The  flowers  I  know 

Bloom  not  in  vain, 
Since  Thou  wilt  care 
To  find  them  fair  : 
Bat  Thou  art — where? 

Faith  falters  so 
When  Love  grows  dim, 
And  'twas  for  him 

I  bade  them  grow  ! 


THE    NEW    NARCISSUS. 

/^~^  IVEN  up  for  all  the  unprofitable  day, 

O'er  the  ship's  side  that  moves  not  in  her 
place, 

To  lean  and  look  and  languidly  to  trace 
On  the  slow  glass  of  the  receding  bay 
The  troubled  image  of  a  troubled  face  ; 
Or,  with  vague  longing  up  and  down  to  pace 
The  narrow  deck,  and  of  the  far-away 
Swift  ships  that  glisten  with  momentary  spray 
Ask  what  avails  a  little  larger  space 
Of  insufficient  ocean, — this  is  he 
Whose  stranded  life,  too  careful  to  be  free, 
No  dreams  deliver,  and  all  thoughts  betray 
To  hate  the  calm  that  holds  him  in  delay, 
To  doubt  the  wind  that  calls  him  to  the  sea. 


PILGRIMAGE. 

i. 

HAS  the  bitterness  found  you  ? 

Ah !  foolish  to  deem, 
While  the  hills  yet  surround  you 
And  hold  you  and  bound  you, 

That  this  was  your  dream. 

2. 
From  the  fields  that  lie  yonder 

It  gleamed  all  aglow 
With  fresh  beauty  and  wonder, 
Which  seem  passing  under 

Strange  darknesses  now : 


202  PIL  GRIM  A  GE. 

3- 
For  you  linger,  mistaking 

The  place  where  you  stand 
For  the  glory,  that  breaking 
All  o'er  it,  was  making 

It  worth  your  demand ; 

4- 
Not  the  place,  whose  use  ended 

As  soon  as  'twas  won, 
Allured,  but  the  splendid 
Glad  light  that  ascended 

Inviting  you  on. 

5- 
On  then  !  with  the  Spirit 

Most  restless  in  rest 
That  guides  who  revere  it, 
And  tortures  who  fear  it 

And  hold  it  supprest ; 


PILGRIMAGE. 

6. 

Unsatisfied  ever 

But  cheerful  to  strive, 
Too  wise  to  dissever 
Joy  from  the  endeavour 

That  keeps  it  alive ; 

7- 

Still  seeking  and  learning 
And  seeking  anew, 

Still  winning  and  spurning, 
• 
Upborne  by  the  yearning 

That  bids  it  pursue  ; 


What  place  shall  restrain  it 

From  always  to  range  ? 
It  strives  but  to  gain  it, 
Outgrow  and  disdain  it, 
Most  constant  to  change. 


203 


204  PILGRIMAGE. 

9- 
Withhold  it  from  ranging, 

And  what  do  you  win  ? 
Your  own  soul  estranging, 
And  outer  strife  changing 

For  discord  within  ! 

10. 
And  who  can  restore  you 

The  light  you  have  lost, 
While  the  shadows  lie  o'er  you 
Of  hills  yet  before  you 

That  wait  to  be  crost  ? 

ii. 
From  the  shadows  that  harm  you, 

Climb,  loving  the   light 
Which  still  shines  to  charm   you 
And  gladden  and  warm  you 

And  guide  you  aright ; 


PILGRIMAGE. 

12. 
Only  past  hopes  are  hollow  ; 

The  real  remain, 
And  swift-winged  as  the  swallow 
Still  call  you  to  follow 

With  longing  again — 


Each  something  supplying, 
Lest  any  despond, 

Each  something  denying, 

And  all  testifying 

To  something  beyond 


HER   NAME. 

T    THINK  her  true  name  must  be  Marguerite, 

So  bright  she  is  and  so  serenely  sweet, 
This  girl  I  never  spoke  to ;    and  have  seen 
Twice,  and  twice  only ;  once  as  o'er  the  green 
She  walked  to  church,  and  once  just  now  as  she 
Met  and  passed  by,  and  never  thought  of  me, 
Who  smiled  to  think  how  all  the  dusty  street 
Seemed   like    fresh   fields,  and    murmured   Mar 
guerite  ! 


GREENHOUSE   FLOWERS. 

(Thanksgiving  Day,  1867.) 

J  "  I  "*IS  too  late  to  find  her  flowers 

Such  as  I  should  rather  give — 
Such  as  sad  and  sunlit  hours 
Equally  have  taught  to  live. 

How  can  these,  that  never  guessed 
How  the  evil  helps  the  good — 

How  can  these  to  her  suggest 

Aught  of  what  I    wish  they  could  ? 

How  can  these  that  never  felt 

Doubt  and  fear  and  hope  deferred, 

Ere  the  snows  began  to  melt, 
Ere  the  frozen  earth  was  stirred ; 


2o8  GREENHOUSE  FLOWERS. 

• 

How  can  these  that  never  thrilled 
In  the  midst  of  their  distress, 

With  the  hope  of  hope  fulfilled — 
How  can  these  my  thought  express  ? 

Yet,  because  perhaps  they  may 
Please  her  once  or  twice  to  see, 

Let  them  go  and  have  their  day, 
Happier  than  they  ought  to  be  ! 


T 


IN    NUBIBUS. 

(October,  1869.) 

HIS  is  a  dream  I  had  of  her 
When  in  the  middle  seas  we  were. 


Sunlight  possessed  the  clouds  again, 
Well  emptied  of  unfruitful  rain, 
When,  leaning  o'er  the  vessel's  side, 
I  watched  the  bubbles  rise  and  glide 
And  break  and  pass  away  beneath  ; 
And  heard  the  creamy  waters  seethe, 
As  when  an  undecided  breeze 
Plays  in  the  branches  of  the  trees 
Just  ere  the  leaves  begin  to  fall ; 
And  as  I  listened,  slowly  all 
The  elm-tree  branches  on  the  Green 
Rose  up  before  me  ;  and  between 
The  stately  trees  on  either  side 
I  saw  the  pathway,  smooth  and  wide, 
In  which  I  once  had  walked  with  her  ; 


2IO  IN  NUBIBUS. 

And  in  it  men  and  women  were, 
Who  came  and  went  no  otherwise 
Than  vague  cloud-shadows  to  my  eyes, 
And  whispering  bubbles  to  my  ear, 
Who  neither  cared  to  see  nor  hear, 
And  straight  forgot  them  every  one. 

But  when  the  last  of  them  was  gone, 
And  now  from  end  to  end  the  walk 
Was  empty  of  them  and  their  talk, 
A  listening,  longing  silence  fell 
Upon  the  elm-trees  like  a  spell 
Of  expectation  and  desire, 
And  quick  I  saw  the  impulsive  fire 
Of  sunset  overflush  the  white 
And  waiting  clouds  with  rosy  light ; 
And  then  a  breeze  ran  all  along 
The  pathway,  as  if  from  a  song- 
Imparting  freshness  as  it  ran, 
Till  all  the  autumn  leaves  began 


IN  NUB  IB  US. 

Mid-summer  murmurs  in  the  air, 
An*d  suddenly  I  saw  her  there — 
And  felt  my  heart  leap  up,  and  then 
As  suddenly  shrink  back  again 
To  see  that  she  was  not  alone  ; 
But  with  her  walking  there  was  one 
Whose  face  turned  sidewise,  as  it  were 
The  better  so  to  hark  to  her, 
Showed  not  enough  to  let  me  know 
What  man  it  was  I  envied  so : 
And  yet  I  could  not  go  away, 
But  fascinated  still  to  stay, 
And  wait  till  they  should  pass  me  by, 
I  stood  and  watched  them  cloudily, 
And  saw  them  coming  near  and  near. 
And  nearer  yet,  till  I  could  hear 
Her  voice  and  recognize  his  face ; 
And,  save  that  a  transmitted  grace 
Made  it  not  easy  to  be  known, 
So  went  the  dream — it  was  my  own. 


AUTUMN    SONG. 

\  T  J  H  A.T  have  rustling  leaves  to  say, 

Fit  to  make  us  sad  or  glad? 
Ere  the  wind  blew  us  away, 
Much  delight  in  life  we  had. 

Now  we  both  of  us  are  sad, 
Both  of  us  would  death  defer — 

You,  because  you  are  not  glad, 
We,  because  we  always  were. 

This  is  what  the  brown  leaves  say, 
With  a  sadness  less  than  mine  : 

Dear,  if  I  should  die  to-day, 
Give  me  something  to  resign. 


SPRING  SONG. 

"\T  7"HILE  I  linger  in  her  room, 

Singing  idly  at  her  feet, 
Si  douce  est  la  Marguerite, 
Are  the  clover  blossoms  sweet? 
Are  the  apple-trees  in  bloom, 
While  I  linger  in  her  room  ? 

Is  there  murmuring  of  bees 
While  I  murmur  at  her  feet, 
Si  douce  est  la  Marguerite1} 
Is  there  singing  swift  and  sweet 
By  the  brook-side,  in  the  trees? 
Is  there  murmuring  of  bees  ? 


214  SPJfAVG  SOATG. 

In  the  springtime  of  the  year, 
Sitting  singing  at  her  feet, 
Si  douce  est  la  Marguerite, 
Is  there  then  no  other  sweet 
Thing  to  see  or  have  or  hear 
In  the  springtime  of  the  year  ? 


THE   MORAL. 

play  is  ended?    Be  it  so! 
What  use  to  criticise  ? 
Arid  yet,  perhaps  'twere  well  to  know 
What  moral  underlies. 

For,  as  I  read  it,  it  is  such 
As  both  may  ponder  o'er ; 

Had  I  not  loved  you  quite  so  much, 
You  might  have  loved  me  more. 


THE   END. 


'  I  "HE  sweetest  songs  are  those 

That  few  men  ever  hear 
And  no  men  ever  sing ; 


The  clearest  skies  are  those 

That  furthest  off  appear 
To  birds  of  strongest  wing  ; 

The  dearest  loves  are  those 

That  no  man  can  come  near 
With  his  best  following. 


WITH     NATURE 


VITA   VITALIS. 
I. 

\Ji  7" HEN  first  the  Spring  grasses 

Take  motion,  and  glisten 
In  sun-litten  masses, 
Wherethrough  the  brook  passes 

And  shimmers  and  sings  ; 
When  first  the  birds  woo  me 

To  linger  and  listen, 
And  watch  them  upspringing 

On  wonderful  wings; 
When  breezes  are  bringing 
Sweet  scents  to  renew  me, 
Sweet  sounds  thrilling  through  me, 

From  apple  blooms  over 

The  blossoming  clover, 
Where  bees  murmur,  clinging 


220 


VITA    VITALIS. 

With  passionate  pleasure, 
And  butterflies  wander 

In  silence,  at  leisure, 
Like  spirits  that  ponder 

Inscrutable  things;— 

Then  always  and  ever, 
Despite  my  endeavour 

To  'scape  its  control, 
Some  inflowing  sadness 
Discolours  the  gladness 

That  freshens  my  soul ; 
Some  answerless  question, 
Some  subtile  suggestion, 
Some  shyly  returning 
Unsought  recollection  ; 
Some  eager  projection 
Of  vague  undiscerning, 
But  passionate  yearning; 
A  hoping,  regretting, 


VITA    VITALIS. 

Remembering,  forgetting ; 
A  groping,  a  reaching, 
Demanding,  beseeching ; 
A  strangeness,  a  clearness, 
A  distance,  a  nearness ; 
Perplexes,  excites  me, 
Repels  me,  invites  me 
And  fills  me  with  fear : 

With  fear  of  foregoing 
My  life  without  knowing 

The  life  that  without  me. 

Above  me,  about  me, 
Is  ceaselessly  flowing 

So  near  me,  so  near  !  — 
So  near,  and  yet  ever 
Beyond  my  endeavour 
To  woo  it  and  win  it, 
To  have  it  and  be  it, 
To  lose  myself  in  it. 


222  VITA    VITALIS. 

I  only  can  see  it, 
And  feel  it  and  hear  it, 
And  love  it  and  fear  it, 

So  willing  to  bless  me, 

So  stern  to  repress  me. 
What  is  it — what  is  it 
Which  makes  me  to  miss  it, 
And  only  to  miss  it  ? 

What  charm  to  be  spoken  ? 

What  spell  to  be  broken, 
Before  I  regain  it 
Once  more,  or  attain  it 
At  last,  and  inherit 

And  hold  as  securely 
As  any  of  these, 
The  life  that  my  spirit 

Remembers  obscurely. 
Obscurely  foresees? 


VITA    VITALIS. 

II. 

Winged  spirits,  that  wander 
In  silence  and  ponder 

Inscrutable  things, 
Ah !  why  do  ye  shun  me  ? 
Float  over,  light  on  me, 
O  touch  me  and  thrill  me, 
With  watchfulness  fill  me  ! 
Nay !  fan  me  and  still  me, 

Ye  wonderful  wings, 
To  slumber,  if  only, 
Me  sleeping,  my  lonely 
Shy  spirit,  who  knew  you 
Once  haply,  can  woo  you 
To  take  her  unto  you 
Once  more  where  ye  wander 
In  silence  and  ponder 
Inscrutable  things! 


223 


A  DAY. 


i. 

^\  yl  7"  HERE  but  few  feet  ever  stray. 

Far  beyond  the  path's  advances, 
All  alone  an  idler  lay 
Half  a  breezy  summer  day 

Underneath  a  chestnut's  branches ; 


2. 
Not  a  stranger  to  the  place, 

For  the  daisies  nodded  to  him, 
And  the  grass  in  lines  of  grace 
Bending  over,  touched  his  face 

With  light  kisses  thrilling  through  him. 


A  DAY. 


225 


3- 
Close  beside  his  harmless  hand 

Swinging  bees  would  suck  the  clover 
And  a  moment  to  be  scanned 
Sunlit  butterflies  expand 

Easy  wings  to  bear  them  over. 

4- 
All  about  him,  full  of  glee, 

Careless  cricket-songs  were  ringing, 
And  the  wild  birds  in  the  tree 
Settled  down  where  he  could  see 

While  he  heard  them  gayly  singing. 

5- 
Overhead  he  saw  the  trees 

Nod  and  beckon  to  each  other, 
And,  too  glad  to  be  at  ease, 
Saw  the  green  leaves  in  the  breeze 

Tingle  touching  one  another ; 


226  A   DAY. 

6. 

Saw  the  little  lonely  rill 

In  a  line  of  greener  growing, 
Slipping  downward  from  the  hill, 
Curving  here  and  there  at  will, 

Through  the  tangled  grasses  going ; 

7- 

Saw  the  play  about  his  feet 

Of  the  flickering  light  and  shadow; 
Saw  the  sunlight  go  to  meet 
Glancing  corn  and  waving  wheat ; 
Saw  the  mowers  in  the  meadow  ; 

8. 
Saw  the  waves  leap  up  and  play 

On  the  palpitating  river, 
Flowing  out  to  find  the  bay, 
And  the  white  ships  far  away 

Sailing  on  and  on  forever ; 


A  DAY.  22> 

9- 

Saw  the  hills  upon  whose  side 

Slow  cloud- shadows  love  to  dally ; 

Saw  the  high  hills,  with  the  pride 

Of  dark  forests  belted  wide, 
Over  many  a  misty  valley ; 

10. 
Saw  far-off  the  thin  and  steep 

Cloudy  mountain-lands  of  wonder, 
Where  unseen  the  torrents  leap 
Over  rifted  rocks  that  keep 

Echoing  memories  of  the  thunder ; 

IT. 

Saw  the  self-supporting  sky 

Ever  more  and  more  receding ; 

Loth  to  linger,  loth  to  fly, 

Saw  the  clouds  go  floating  by, 

Stranger  shapes  to  strange  succeeding  ; 


228  A   DAY. 

12. 

Saw  and  mused  and  went  away, 

Whether  light  or  heavy  hearted, 
It  were  hard  for  him  to  say, 
For  a  something  came  that  day 
And  a  something  had  departed  ; 


And  his  soul  was  overfraught 
With  a  passion  e'er  returning  ; 

With  the  pain  that  comes  unsought 

Of  unutterable  thought, 

And  the  restlessness  of  yearning. 


IN    MAY. 
(1870.) 

"NT  OW  that  the  green  hill-side  has  quite 

Forgot  that  it  was  ever  white, 
With  quivering  grasses  clothed  upon  ; 
And  dandelions  invite  the  sun ; 
And  columbines  have  found  a  way 
To  overcome  the  hard  and  gray 
Old  rocks  that  also  feel  the  Spring; 
And  birds  make  love  and  swing  and  sing 
On  boughs  which  were  so  bare  of  late ; 
And  bees  become  importunate ; 
And  butterflies  are  quite  at  ease 
Upon  the  well-contented  breeze. 
Which  only  is  enough  to  make 
A  shadowy  laughter  on  the  lake ; 


230  IN  MA  Y. 

And  all  the  clouds,  that  here  and  there 
Are  floating,  melting  in  the  air, 
Are  such  as  beautify  the  blue ;  — 
Now  what  is  worthier,  May,  than  you 
Of  all  my  praise,  of  all  my  love, 
Except  whom  you  remind  me  of? 


MOONLIGHT   IN   MAY. 

(May  18,  1867.) 

r  I  ^  HANKS!     for    I    understand    you,   happy 

Night ! 

And  smile  with  you  at  all  that  made  me  sad, 
Drawn  unawares  beyond  all  griefs  I  had 
Into  the  truthfulness  of  clear  moonlight, 
Before  whose  frankness  I  can  banish  quite 
The  old  forlorn  endeavour  to  be  glad, 
And  carelessly  stand  listening  as  I  please 
To  the  low  rustle  on  the  sparkling  shore 
Of  conscious  waves,  that,  ripplingly  at  ease, 
Outrun  the  light  and  lead  it  on  before  ; 
Or  to  the  murmur  of  the  moonlit  trees, 
Whom  time  of  waiting  and  reserve  is  o'er, 
Whom  Spring  has  taught  to  captivate  the  brcezf, 
And  charm  the  nights  made  musical  once  more. 


IN   THE    MEADOW. 

(1867.) 

T  PLK,  and  all  in  love  with  idleness  ; 

Caught    in  the  net-work  that   my  oak-tree 

weaves 

Of  light  and  shadow  with  his  thrilling  leaves, 
And  charmed    to   hear   hi's    murmured  songs  no 

less, 

On  the  shorn  grass  I  lie,  and  let  the  excess 
Of  summer  life  seem  only  summer  play  ; 
Even  to  the  farmers  working  far  away, 
Where  one  man  lifts  and  strenuously  heaves 
A  bristly  haycock  up  to  him  who  stands 
Unsteadily  upon  the  swaying  load, 
"Which,  while  the  shuffling  oxen  slowly  pass. 
Touched  into  wakefulness  by  voice  and  goad, 
He    shapes   and   smooths,    and    turning    in    hi$ 

hands, 
The  long  fork  glistens  like  a  rod  of  glass. 


BY   THE   LAKE. 

E  how  the  restless  melancholy  lake 
Gives  all  itself,  too  vainly  evermore, 

Up  to  the  blankness  of  the  barren  shore 
Which  cannot  answer  it  again,  nor  take 
Warmth  to  its  loveless  life  from  lips  that  ache 

With  kissing  and  beseeching  o'er  and  o'er. 

O  bitterness  of  life,  not  known  before  ! 
Who  shall  deliver  it  from  loves  that  make 

No  answer  to  its  yearning,  strangely  strong 
To  shut  it  in  and  waste  its  noblest  powers  ? 

Making  a  moan  of  what  was  meant  fof  song, 
And  for  its  hope  of  growing  grass  and  flowers, 

Condemning  it  to  see  its  best  endeavour 

End  in  slow  foam  on  fruitless  sands  forever. 


BY   THE    BAY. 

(January  g,  1867.) 

/^~\  N  the  smooth  shore  I  stand  alone  and  see 
A  wonder  in  the  distance  :  there  the  bay, 
Drawn  on  to  meet  and  mingle  far  away 
With  the  broad  sky's  unstained  serenity, 
Pauses  at  last  from  panting  restlessly  ; 
Smooths  his  short  waves,  and  scorning  to  delay, 
Falls  from  the  rounded  world  with  all  his  weight 
In  silence  through  the  silences  below ; 
Where  nothing  balks  the  aimless  overflow, 
Till  all  the  solid  waters  separate, 
Split  into  streams,  that  bursting  as  they  go 
Fly  off  in  rain,  that  ends  in  scattered  spray 
And  mist  that  rises  for  the  winds  to  blow 
Hither  and  thither  in  unending  play. 


THE   MIST. 

T    SAW  along  the  lifeless  sea 

A  mist  come  creeping  stealthily, 
Without  a  noise  and  slow, 
A  crouching  mist  come  crawling  low 
Along  the  lifeless  sea. 

None  marked  that  creeping,  crawling  mist 

That  crawled  along  the  sea, 

That  crept  and  crawled  so  stealthily 

And  was  so  weak  and  white  ; 

The  moon  was  shining  clear,  I  wist, 

Above  it  in  the  night. 


236  THE  MIST. 

I  saw  it  creeping,  crawling  low, 
Slow  crawling  from  the  sea, 
I  saw  it  creep  and  crawl  and  grow 
Till  all  the  stifled  earth  below 
Was  shrouded  silently  : 

I  saw  it  creep  and  crawl  and  grow, 
A  forceless,  formless  thing. 
Determined,  tireless,  ceaseless,  slo\v; 
Silent  and  silencing ; 
I  saw  it  creep  and  crawl  and  rise 
And  crawl  into  the  skies ; 

The  stars  began  to  faint  and  fail, 

That  were  so  pure  and  clear ; 

The  moon  took  on  a  loathsome  look 

Of  likeness  to  her  fear — 

That  closer  crawled  and  clung  to  her 

And  clung  more  near  and  near. 


THE  MIST.  237 

The  smothered  moon  went  out  and  left 

Not  even  the  mist  to  see, 

Mere  blankness,  and  a  sickening  sense 

Of  something  worse  to  be ; 

And  certainly  in  midst  of  it 

An  awful  thing  I  wist, 

It  was  to  know  that  all  the  world 

Was  nothing  but  a  mist, 

But  a  creeping,  crawling  mist. 


RARA   AVIS. 

QTANDING  in  shade,  beside  a  path  that  lay 

Full  in  the  sunlight  of  the  afternoon, 
A  gush  of  song  from  some  bird  far  away 
I  heard  arise  and  sink  again  as  soon  ; 

And  still  I  listened,  but  no  more  I  heard, 
And  all  I  saw  was  on  the  sunny  ground 
The  flying  shadow  of  an  unseen  bird, 
No  sooner  come,  than  gone  without  a  sound 

And  so  a  song  that  I  have  never  heard 
Surpasses  all  that  I  shall  ever  hear, 
And  by  the  shadow  of  a  vanished  bird 
The  rest  are  darkened  and  not  very  dear. 


THE   KATYDID. 

~\  T  7 HO  knows  of  what  the  katydid 

Sings  every  night  where  he  is  hid 
In  secret  grasses  or  in  trees 
That  have  so  many  mysteries  ? 
But  under  faint  far  stars,  that  peer 
Through  fainter  clouds,  I  stand  and  hear 
Him  singing,  and  know  not  indeed 
If  any  other  song  I  need ; 
If  any  other  song  there  be 
So  full  of  thrilling  things  to  me ; 
Deluding  me  with  old  delights 
That  wake  and  make  less  happy  nights 
Not  wholly  barren  for  their  sakes ; 
And  old  and  new  desires  it  wakes 


240  THE  KATYDID. 

For  sweeter  things  than  are;  and  all 

That  ever  was  or  is  or  shall 

Be  made  for  longing  or  regret 

It  mingles  and  makes  lovelier  yet ; 

Till  now  if  over  or  below 

He  sing  or  cease  I  hardly  know  ! 


A   VINE. 

ROOTED  and  sure  to  grow 

q  1      "  1 

berenely  in  poor  places, 
It  lets  its  freshness  flow 

O'er  barren  rocks,  and  graces 
Their  blankness  till  they  show, 
With  green  and  crimson  glow, 
As  if  themselves  did  make 
The  beauty  that  they  take. 

This  is  the  true  man's  way; 

To  let  no  kind  of  chances 
Warp  him  or  turn  astray ; 

The  blankest  circumstances 
Shall  give  his  spirit  play 
If  he  will — as  he  may — 

Because  the  rest  are  slow, 

Strive  all  the  more  to  grow. 


ON   THE    BEACH. 

(August,  1870.) 

HANKS  to  the  few  fair  clouds  that  show 

So  white  against  the  blue, 
At  last  even  I  begin  to  know 
What  I  was  born  to  do ; 

What  else  but  here  alone  to  lie 

And  bask  me  in  the  sun? 
Well  pleased  to  see  the  sails  go  by 

In  silence  one  by  one; 

Or  lovingly,  along  the  low 

Smooth  shore  no  plough  depraves, 

To  watch  the  long  low  lazy  flow 
Of  the  luxurious  waves. 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   LIFE. 

/^\  H,  not  in  vain  some  happier  influence  led 
My  feet  to  wander  where  few  footsteps  go  1 
After  so  long  a  pacing  to  and  fro 
In  barren  ways,  how  good  it  is  instead, 
Here  where  the  blue  is  ample  overhead, 
And  where  the  green  is  plentiful  below, 
To  be  alone  and  let  the  unquestioned  flow 
Of  real  life  control  me  quieted ! 
Quieted,  yes !  and  brought  near  to  behold 
The  only  life  that  makes  me  loth  to  die  ; 
Whether  the  grass  or  whether  the  light  breeze 
Gladden  me  more,  or  whether  it  be  these 
Slim  silver  birches,  lifting  to  the  sky 
Such  quivering  fountains  of  sunshiny  gold. 


MAN   AND   NATURE. 

S~\   STEADFAST  trees,  that  know 
Rain,  hail  and  sleet  and  snow, 
And  all  the  winds  that  blow  ; 

But  when  spring  comes,  can  then 

So  freshly  bud  again 
Forgetful  of  the  wrong  ! 

Waters  that  deep  below 

The  stubborn  ice  can  go 

With  quiet  underflow ; 
Contented  to  be  dumb 
Till  spring  herself  shall  come 

To  listen  .to  your  song  ! 


MAN  AND  NA  TURE. 

Stars  that  the  clouds  pass  o'er 
And  stain  not,  but  make  more 
Alluring  than  before  ; — 
How  good  it  is  for  us 
That  your  lives  are  not  thus 
Prevented,  but  made  strong  .' 


245 


CALM   AND   COLD. 

(January,  1867.) 

~T)  REAK  into  spray,  and  fly  and  fill  the  air 
With  ghastly  mist  that  freezes  ere  it  falls, 
O  struggling  waves  !  whom  not  the  wind  appals, 
Nor  all  the  wrestling  tempests  overbear, 
But  secret  fear,  lest,  pausing  weary  there, 
Instead  of  peace,  renewing  whom  it  calls, 
The  subtle  cold,  that  levels  and  enthralls, 
Should  creep  and  find  and  bind  you  unaware  : 
And  what  were  worse  than,   smoothly  calm  and 

cold, 

Wrapt  in  false  peace,  to  fancy  strife  is  o'er, 
Forget  the  woes  that  all  the  winds  deplore, 
Forget  the  cares  that  all  the  clouds  enfold, 
Watch  not  nor  wait  for  changes  as  of  old, 
And  feel  the  movement  of  the  world  no  more  ! 


WINTER   SUNRISE. 
(1869.) 

"\T  7" HEN  I  consider,  as  I  am  forced  to  do, 

The  many  causes  of  my  discontent, 
And  count  my  failures,  and  remember  too 
How  many  hopes  the  failures  represent ; 
The  hope  of  seeing  what  I  have  not  seen, 
The  hope  of  winning  what  I  have  not  won, 
The  hope  of  being  what  I  have  not  been, 
The  hope  of  doing  what  I  have  not  done  ; 
When  I  remember  and  consider  these — 
Against  my  Past  my  Present  seems  to  lie 
As  bare  and  black  as  yonder  barren  trees 
Against  the  brightness  of  the  morning  sky, 
Whose  golden  expectation  puts  to  shame 
The  lurking  hopes  to  which  they  still  lay  claim. 


WINTER   SUNSET. 
('87o.) 

SAW  a  cloud  at  set  of  sun 
Exceeding  white  and  fair, 
High  over  every  other  one, 
And  poised  in  purer  air; 

Like  one  that  follows,  forward  bent, 
With  arms  outspread  before, 

Into  the  splendid  west  he  went 
Just  as  the  day  was  o'er; 

I  saw  him  turn  to  rosy  red, 

I  saw  him  turn  to  fire, 
I  saw  him  burn  away,  and  said 

This  one  had  his  desire  / 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE. 

(December  26,  1866.) 

OAFELY  at  home,  what  is  it  that  I  hear 

In  the  wind's  moaning  and  the  driven  snow 
That  will  not  let  me  rest  ?  Strange  sounds  of  woe 
From  icy  sailors  battling  with  their  fear; 
The  dreadful  rush  of  shuddering  ships  that  steer 
For  safety  from  the  harbours  that  they  know ; 
The  thunder  of  blown  icebergs  as  they  go 
Together  in  the  darkness ;  and  more  near, 
And  worse  than  all  the  tumult  of  the  seas, 
A  long  low  moan  and  sound  of  scanty  tears 
From  hungry  men  and  women  as  they  freeze. 
O  Christ !  the  world  is  sad  these  many  years 
For  many  causes;  would  that  one  might  cease 
From  making  vain  all  promises  of  peace  ! 


THE   LION   OF   LUCERNE. 
(1869.) 
i. 

O  I  LENT  it  is,  but  over  it  the  trees 

And  under  it  the  waters,  and  around 
The   bees  and  birds  and   grasses  make  a  sound 
Of  life  whose  movement   is  all  grace  and   ease, 
Devoid  of  fears,  devoid  of  ecstasies, 
But  full  of  joy  as  careless  as  profound ; 
Silent  it  is,  but  none  the  less  at  last 
Its  mute  insistence  overcomes  the  ear 
And  steals  the  pleasure  that  it  had  to  hear 
Earth's    peaceful    noises,    which   seem    changing 

fast 

Into  mere  mockery,  as  the  wave-like  Past, 
Recurring  sullenly,  brings  near  and  near 
The   unjoyful  murmur  of  man's   ceaseless  strife, 
Let  break  in  vain  against  the  shore  of  life. 


THE  LION  OF  LUCERNE. 

u. 

"X7ET  there  is  life,  and  there  is  joy  and  peace; 
Life  before   death,  and  peace  this  side  the 

grave, 

And  joy  in  Earth,  for  this  is  what  we  crave, 
Not  to  postpone,  nor  to  forego  and  cease, 
But  in  fulfilment  to  obtain  release 
From   strife  which  vexes,  but  at  last  shall  save  : 
Therefore  to  you,  blithe  singing  birds  and  bees, 
To  you,  soft  trickling  waters,  and  to  you, 
Slow  melting  cloud- wreaths  in  the  unruffled  blue, 
Above  the  movement  of  the  mingled  trees, 
To  you  once  more  my  soul  returns  and  sees, 
And  hears,  not  mockery,  but   a  calm  and   true 
Correction  and  approval  of  the  strife, 
Which  is  not  life,  but  shall  attain  to  life. 


MY   PLACE. 

I  _^ROM  the  main  road  I  turn  abrupt,  and  walk 

A  little  way  along  a  lonely  lane 
Shadowed  by  lazy  willows  (of  our  trees 
The  first  to  show,  the  last  to  shed  their  leaves — 
Most  hopeful  and  most  faithful  of  them  all). 
This  leads  me  to  the  entrance  of  My  Place — 
So  I  have  named  it — which,  though  often  seen, 
Yet  somehow  always  takes  me  by  surprise. 

It  seems  to  be  a  road — though  never  yet 
Have  I  seen  horse  or  wagon  enter  it — 
Which  passes  downward  crookedly  between 
Old  rocks  which  overshadow  it  all  day  : 
Old  rocks  whose  tops  are  overgrown  with  grass, 


MY  PLACE.  253 

Where  violets  delay  dewdrops  from  the  sun, 
And  dandelions  show  like  midsummer  stars, 
Or  languid  moons  at  mid-day,  ere  the  breeze 
Has  played  the  sower  with  them ;  daisies,  too, 
Contemplative  till  Fall ;  and  in  the  Fall 
Frank  purple  asters,  and  glad  golden  rod : 
Slim  birch  trees  shadow  them  not  heavily, 
And  overlean  the  pass  from  either  side, 
With  silver  trunks  and  shining  restless  leaves, 
And  twigs  so  slight  that  when  the  leaves  are  gone 
I  scarce  regret  their  absence  in  the  Fall, 
So  delicately  beautiful  appear 
The  loosely  interwoven,  sharp,  thin  lines, 
With  pendulous  seed-tassels  held  aloft 
In  shifting  tracery  on  the  pale  blue  sky. 

But  O !  to  stand  directly  in  the  midst, 
Below  the  scarred  old  rocks  on  either  hand, 
Low  down  in  shadow,  and  from  off  the  ground 


254 

To  let  the  eye  rise  from  the  weedy  grass 

And  slowly  make  acquaintance  with  the  moss 

And  many-coloured  lichens  of  the  rock ; 

And  with  the  hanging   grass,  which   grows   and 

sways, 

Head  downward,  whispering  softly  to  the  breeze ; 
With  vines  that  climb  and  vines  that  overfall 
Luring  the  eye  to  follow  the  long  curves, 
Till  high  above  I  see  the  twisted  roots, 
And  higher  yet,  like  lines  of  silver  light, 
The  over-reaching  stems  that  half  across, 
From  either  side  the  pathway,  hold  aslant 
The  longing  separated  birches  there, 
Whose  quivering  leaves  attempt  to  blend  in  vain ; 
And  higher  yet,  between  them  and  beyond, 
As  if  seen  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
Lo  the  blue  sky !  far  off,  but  not  too  far ! 

Beyond  the  rocks  are  trees  that  overhang 
Few  wild  flowers  in  the  Spring,  but  in  the  Fall 


MY  PLACE.  255 

Uncounted  wealth  of  many-coloured  leaves — 
Old  chestnut-trees,  and  hickories  and  oaks, 
Wound   round   with    woodbine,   overgrown    with 

moss, 

Under  whose  ample  branches  dogwoods  grow. 
In  Winter  I  have  seen  them  blotted  out 
By  blurring  snow-storms  from  the  encroaching  sky, 
And  on  smooth-lying  snow  have  traced,  how  oft, 
The  still  blue  shadows  of  their  thinnest  twigs ; 
And  in  the  Spring  have  seen  them  putting  forth, 
And  thrilled  to  see  that  first  faint  tender  green 
Above  the  rugged  bark,  as  if  I  saw 
Tears  of  mere  tenderness  upon  the  face 
Of  some  stern  fighter  in  a  life-long  war ; 
And  in  the  Summer  I  have  sat  and  mused 
For  hours  beneath  their  dream-compelling  leaves. 

But  in  the  Autumn  love  them  most  of  all ; 
And  that  especially  for  four  or  five 


256  MY  PLACE. 

Supreme  old  oaks  and  hickories,  even  no\v, 

This  third  day  of  November,  which  retain 

A  glory  that  no  others  ever  had. 

The  frequent  maples,  that  last  month  fulfilled 

The  air  with  cheerfulness,  are  faded  now 

To  brooding  brown,  or  oftener  yet  become 

Mere  leaden  outlines,  stiff  and  cold ;  but  here 

Are  hickories  still  with  living  golden  leaves 

Unblenching  from  the  breezes,  while  around 

The  chestnut  leaves  are  fluttering  down  in  showers, 

And  even  in  places  crackling  under  foot. 

But  the  one  tree  which  consecrates  the  place 
With  glorious  beauty  is  a  lonely  oak 
Which  stands  full  in  the  sunlight,  with  a  mass 
Of  quivering,  clear,  almost  transparent  leaves, 
Which  look  like  burning  rubies  in  the  air, 
So  red  they  are,  so  full  of  life  and  light. 
No  other  autumn  tree  can  match  with  this — 


MY  PLACE.  257 

No  scarlet  maple  among  its  golden  mates, 
No  sumach,  no,  nor  woodbine  where  it  falls 
O'er  a  gray  rock  in  sunlight,  shows  a  red 
So  clear,  so  pure,  so  ravishing  as  this — 
Like  light  itself,  a  mystery,  a  charm  : 
One  almost  fears  to  see  it  pass  away 
With  every  movement  of  the  hovering  breeze ; 
But  it  remains,  it  lives  and  glows  and  grows, 
And  holds  me  like  a  sunset,  till  at  last 
I  break  away  reluctantly,  and  turn 
And  turn  again  to  see  it  yet  once  more, 
Mingling  its  rubies  with  the  glancing  gold 
Of  sunlit  leaves  behind  it,  while  the  sky, 
In  sapphire  flecks  seen  thro'  the  magic  web, 
Seems  quivering  with  its  motion  like  the  sea. 

But  ere  one  passes  from  between  the  rocks, 
He  sees  a  gleam  of  brightness  underneath, 
Which  tells  him  why  the  pathway  all  at  once 


258  MY  PLACE. 

Descends  so  swiftly,  making  haste  to  meet 
The  beckoning  waters  that  it  sees  below. 
And  so  its  eagerness  begets  in  me 
An  equal  longing,  and  I  hurry  down, 
And  for  a  moment  am  amazed  and  blind 
Before  the  rippling  river  as  it  flows 
And  flashes  in  the  sunlight  at  my  feet. 

But,  far  off  in  the  distance  to  the  left, 

Soon  I  begin  to  see  a  narrow  shore 

Which  widens  ever,  till  straight  across  I  see 

Broad  sloping  fields,  and  back  of  them  the  woods 

That  step  by  step  rise  up  to  mark  the  sky 

With  dark  uneven  fringes  on  the  blue ; 

Then  no  more  meadows  for  the  waves  to  wash, 

But  a  bare  wall  to  beat  against  in  vain 

Of  unassisted  rock,  which  far  away 

Curves  suddenly  to  meet,  or  seem  to  meet 

The  bending  shore,  and  shut  the  river  in, 


MY  PLACE.  259 

So  that  all  sails  that  pass  me  outward  bound 
Seem  all  at  once  to  strangely  disappear 
As  if  the  mountain  took  them,  as  of  old 
The  Venusberg  took  Venus  and  her  knight; 
While  those  that  come  seem  rising  from  the  depths, 
Like  Flying- Dutchmen  from  another  world. — 
And  yonder  by  the  chestnut  is  My  Place. 

It  has  two  parts ;  the  first  a  grassy  bank 
Just  on  the  border  of  a  little  wood 
Of  chestnut-trees,  above  a  tiny  pool 
Of  shallow  water,  from  whose  edge  the  grass 
Slopes  once  again  to  meet  the  actual  shore 
(Its  second  part),  than  which  I  think  there  is 
No  better  place  to  see  and  hear  the  waves, 
And  watch  the  noiseless  changes  of  the  clouds. 

When  I  first  found  it  'twas  a  lovely  day — 
A  lovely  latter  May-day,  warm  and  bright — 
A  day  for  lying  on  the  grass  alone, 


260  MY  PLACE. 

To  watch  and  wonder  at  the  tender  leaves, 

And  breathe  the  fragrance  of  the  kindred  ground ; 

Over  and  back  of  me  the  breathing  trees, 

And  over  these,  seen  partly  thro'  the  boughs, 

The  waveless  sky,  with  little  melting  clouds ; 

Below,  the  shallow  waters  reproduced 

The  rocks  and  shrubs  and  overhanging  trees, 

And  sky  and  clouds  and  butterflies  and  birds — 

Its  magic  stillness  broken  only  once 

By  magic  music,  where  a  thin  lost  rill, 

From  groping  thro'  the  hiding  grass,  at  last 

Stole  forth  and  found  and  fell  into  its  lake, 

With   ripple   and  flash,  like  laughter   heard   and 

seen ; 

And  then  the  river,  seen  without  its  shore, 
Bright  in  the  sunlight,  rippled  by  the  breeze ; 
Far  off  the  incessant  glances  of  a  quick 
Insufferable  multitude  of  suns; 
Nearer,  a  broad  white  band  of  blinding  light, 


MY  PLACE.  261 

Which  made  the  waters  just  this  side  of  it 

Seem  almost  black  with  gloom,  which  when  the 

sails 
Touched   they  were  changed,  and  in  a  moment 

gone, 
Lost  in  the  splendour  of  the  concealing  light. 

And  many  a  morning  since,  upon  the  shore 
Have  I  sat  still  and  let  the  river  flow 
Unheeded,  while  I  watched  the  silent  clouds 
On  the  transparent  river  of  the  air, 
Like  ruffled  swans  rejoicing  in  the  breeze, 
Whose  motion  was  for  music ;  or  have  tried 
To  name  the  unimaginable  forms 
Of  all  the  cirri  in  the  upper  blue, 
Pleased  like  a  child  to  mark  what  flecks  of  foam, 
What  overfalling  wool-white  waves  were  there, 
What  misty  beams,  what  thread-like  lines  of  light, 
What  flying  flashes  of  revolving  fire, 


262  MY  PLACE. 

What  airy  tongues  of  unpolluted  flame, 

What  breathing  Northern-lights,  what  Milky-ways, 

What  fairy  frost-work,  what  gigantic  ferns, 

What  cirri  simply  (I  came  back  to  that) — 

Till  into  me  insensibly  the  charm 

Of  all  the  loveliness  of  all  the  sky, 

Its  light,  its  joy,  its  clearness  and  its  calm, 

Stole  like  sweet  music,  ending  in  a  cry 

Of  inexpressible  desire,  and  passed. 

And  still  the  breeze  just  touched  the  lazy  leaves, 

And  at  my  feet  the  seeming  sleeping  waves 

Moved  only  as  a  dreamful  sleeper  breathes. 

But  there  are  days  of  quiet,  when  the  calm 

Seems  not  of  dreaming,  but  of  speechless  thought, 

And  under  all  the  quietness  I  feel, 

I  know  what  lurking  restlessness  is  there, 

That  with  the  waking  comes  the  war  again. 

And  often  as  I  sit  and  look  across, 


MY  PLACE.  263 

And  contemplate  the  slow  unyielding  rocks, 
Dead  to  the  movement  of  the  clouds  and  waves, 
Their  joy  or  pain,  their  hope  or  their  despair, — 
Oft  as  I  sit  alone  and  look  at  these, 
The  whole  world  changes,  and  at  once  my  dreams 
Born  of  the  warm  air  and  the  whispering  leaves, 
Are  scattered  from  me  by  the  self-same  thought 
That  crowds  the  waves  to  wear  the  rocks  away ; 
Then  what  are  dreams  of  things  to  be  desired 
To  that  desire  of  things  to  b.e  denied, 
Which  pricks  me  to  my  feet  and  sets  my  face 
With  hungry  pain  against  the  little  breeze  ? — 
Longing  to  feel  it  change  into  a  swift, 
Indignant  wind,  which  shall  uprouse  the  waves 
To  fury,  and  the  tree-tops  to  a  grand 
Dishevelled  madness,  while  from  woods  to  waves 
The  roar  is  answered,  and  my  soul  relieved 
By  lifting  music  from  its  want  of  wings, 
And  envy  of  the  se,a-gulls,  where  they  fly 
Wrestling  the  wind,  insatiate  of  the  storm. 


264  MY  PLACE. 

Such  winds  I  find  here  often  in  the  Fall 
Then  not  such  clouds  as  but  enhance  the  blue 
Above  the  rippling  river  whitely  sail 
Nowhither  smoothly,  but  rebellious  shapes 
Of  writhing  darkness,  like  the  lower  waves, 
Rise  raging  and  fall  sullenly,  blown  on 
And  dashed  against  the  inviolable  sun ; 
Grandly  they  rise  and  grandly  are  thrust  down, 
The  ragged  foam-like  edges  wildly  bright 
With  an  unwelcome  brightness,  till  at  last — 
As  naturally  as  if  the  storm  itself 
Were  but  the  inclusion  of  a  central  calm — 
There  comes  a  change;    the  uncertain  wind  de 
cides  ; 

The  trees  still  rock  and  roar  and  grind ;  the  waves 
Still  writhe  and  gnash  and  murmur  unappeased ; 
The  clouds  still  sway  and  struggle  overhead ; 
But  in  the  west  a  space  of  purer  blue 
(Heaven  never  is  so  purely  blue  as  when 


MY  PLACE.  265 

The  heavy  clouds  are  broken  after  rain) 
Expects  its  glory  from  the  setting  sun, 
And  takes  it,  and  the  changing  clouds  no  less 
Take  alien  beauty,  and  I  too  am  glad 
After  the  storm,  and  with  light  step  and  heart 
Can  now  walk  homeward,  having  little  need, 
Lighted  and  shone  upon  by  such  a  sky, 
Of  any  God  or  Goddess,  Friend  or  Love, 
Except  for  thanks,  except  for  sympathy. 


EARLY     POEMS 


SUNSET. 

/^\   THE  the  glory  of  the  sky  that  is  mine! 
Far  above,  a  stretch  of  blue, 
With  a  veil  of  silver  grey 
Slipping  downward  to  combine 
With  a  shadow  hardly  seen 
Of  the  palest  fading  green ; 

And  beneath, — 
(How  their  edges  seem  to  breathe 

And  to  curl 
In   the   fire   that   has   burnt   them    through    and 

through !) 

Adding  purple  to  the  pearl, 
Are  the  moving  clouds  uprolled 
From  a  sun  that  melts  away 
In  a  depth  of  glowing  gold. 


A   RAINY    DAY. 

A     WIND  that  shrieks  to  the  window  pane, 

A  wind  in  the  chimney  moaning, 
A  wind  that  tramples  the  ripened  grain, 

And  sets  the  trees  a-groaning ; 
A  wind  that  is  dizzy  with  whirling  play, 
A  dozen  winds  that  have  lost  their  way 

In  spite  of  the  others'  calling. 
A  thump  of  apples  on  the  ground, 
A  flutter  and  flurry  and  whirling  round 

Of  leaves  too  soon  a-dying; 
A  tossing  and  screaming  like  hair  unbound 

Of  the  willow  boughs  a-flying : 
A  lonely  road  and  a  gloomy  lane, 
An  empty  lake  that  is  blistered  with  rain, 

And  a  heavy  sky  that  is  falling. 


AN    EARLY   SPRING. 

i. 

T  T  7  HAT  if  I  found  a  crocus  yesterday, 

And  then  a  hyacinth  in  perfect  bloom  ? 
They  only  prove  this  Southern  March  is  May. 
I  gain  an  earlier  spring,  but  throw  away 
Sweet  days  and  nights  which  would  have  given  me 

A  longer  joy  than  hyacinth-perfume, 
And  surer  promises  than  here  I  see 
Of  better  summer  days  than  these  can  ever  be. 

2. 
Bloom,  hyacinth  and  crocus — not  for  me; 

Shine,  genial  Sun — not  genial  to  my  heart ; 
Blow,  winds  of  Spring;  flow,  waters  fresh  and  free, 
And  be  to  others  what  you  cannot  be 


272  AN  EARLY  SPRING. 

To  those  who  will  not  bear  with  your  delay, 

But  snatch  and  crush  the  joy  you  else  impart. 
O,  little  joy  is  there  in  blooming  May 
For  him   who   knows   not   March   and   many 
doubtful  day  ! 


BY   THE    BROOK. 

T  T  ERE  were  the  place  to  lie  alone  all  day, 

On   shadowed   grass   beneath   the   sunlit 
trees, 

With  leaves  forever  trembling  in  the  breeze, 
While  close  beside,  the  brook  keeps  up  alway 
The  old  love-murmur,  wooing  me  to  stay 

And  hear  the  dreamy  music  all  at  ease. 
The  old  love-murmur;  such  she  heard,  I  deem, 

White  Arethusa  in  her  maiden  grace, 

When,  naked  after  the  fatiguing  chase, 
She  bathed  alone  in  Alpheus'  shady  stream, 

And  throwing  back  the  wet  hair  from  her  face, 
Listening  a  moment,  half  entranced  did  seem; 

Then  frightened,  from  the  rising  God's  embrace 
Fled  glistening,  like  the  spirit  of  a  dream. 


BETWEEN   THE   SUNSET  AND  THE 
MOON. 

T    CLIMB  and  stand  upon  the  grassy  height 
Beneath  a  cloudless  heaven's  tranquillity ; 
The  sun  is  gone,  and  slowly  comes  the  night 

Across  the  silent  fields,  but  gloriously 
The  West  is  shining  with  a  golden  light, 

Where  purple  hills  stand  sharp  against  the  sky, 
And  seem  to  girdle  in  the  world,  and  keep 

An  endless  barrier  'tween  the  sea  and  land. 
I  turn  :  below,  just  wakened  from  its  sleep, 

The  lake  is  beating  music  on  the  sand ; 
Above  it,  resting  on  the  mountain  steep, 

The  naked  beauty  of  the  moon  is  seen, 
And  a  great  joy  comes  to  me,  for  I  stand 

Between  a  birth  and  death  alike  serene. 


I 


A  WINTER  AFTERNOON. 

STAND  where  in  the  summer  I  have  stood, 
But   all  is  changed.     There  is  no  sight  of 

green 
Save  yonder,  in  the  stiff-branched  cedar  wood, 

Whose  dull,  cold  leaves  are  gloomy  to  be  seen  ; 
The  little  hill— great  growth  of  grass  was  there, 

Where  careless  crickets  leaped  and  sang  before- 
Rusty  and  dead,  slopes  slowly  down  to  where 

Foul  ice  lies  stranded  on  the  slimy  shore : 
For  the  sad  river  with  a  low,  dull  moan, 
Leaving  his  shore  flows  sullenly  apart. 
But  I,  who  stand  in  silence  here  alone 

Looking  on  these,  am  nothing  sad  at  heart ; 
For  over  all  there  is  a  pure,  bright  sky, 
Wherein  the  sun  is  shining  gloriously. 


THE   LOST   MOON. 

i. 

T  N  among  the  changing  cirri, 

Transient  children  of  the  noon, 
Soulless  shapes  of  mocking  light, 

Far  away  I  see  the  moon, 
All  alone  and  pale  and  weary, 
Looking,  longing  for  the  night. 

2. 
Looking,  longing,  waiting,  loving, 

Ah  !  thou  weary  one  but  true, 
Lost  but  faithful,  well  I  know 

Other  souls  that  wander  too, 
Unapproved  and  unapproving, 
Till  the  soulless  ones  shall  go. 


I 


PURSUING. 

AM  the  moon,  you  are  the  sun, 
O  my  beloved ! 
Too  far  removed 
Ever  by  me  to  be  won. 
The  sea  is  mine,  if  I  stoop  from  above, 
And  the  stars  grow  pale  for  the  want  of  my  love, 
But  I  leave  the  stars  and  the  longing  sea, 
For  the  fuller  love  that  afar  I  see, 
Ever  so  far  removed  from  me. 
Still  I  pursue,  will  I  pursue, 

Looking  to  you, 
Over  the  wide,  wide  space 

That  keeps  us  apart, 
Light  on  my  face, 
Love  in  my  heart ! 


FROM   BELOW. 

T    AM  not  one  disposed  to  chide 

For  that  full  calm  which  men  call  pride, 
That  like  a  hiding  brightness  lies 
Before  those  wide,  unwavering  eyes. 

Who  are  you  that  would  chide,  and  why  ? 
Because  that  clear,  undazzled  eye 
Keeps  something  constantly  in  view 
So  high  that  it  looks  over  you  ? 

Because  there  falls  upon  her  ear 
Music  that  makes  it  deaf  to  hear 
The  little  cries  of  love  or  hate 
That  issue  from  your  lower  state  ? 


FROM  BELOW. 

Nay,  hush  your  cries;  they  but  confess 
The  secret  pain  of  littleness, 
Which  sees  above  its  paltry  strife 
The  satire  of  a  noble  life. 

For  me,  I  am  rejoiced  indeed 
That  of  my  love  she  has  no  need ; 
Raised  far  above  the  doubtful  ways 
In  which  I  wander,  glad  to  gaze 

From  far  below  on  such  as  she, 
Who  feel  the  light  I  dimly  see, 
And  know  that  one  has  made  her  own 
The  peace  for  which  I  vainly  moan. 

And  more — God  shows  in  her  the  pain 
Of  all  my  strivings  is  not  vain, 
And  makes  me  more  than  glad  to  know 
How  lovely  life  may  hope  to  grow. 


ABSENCE. 

i. 
T    WONDER  where  she  can  be  now ! 

Far  away  is  all  I  know ; 
Far  away  the  glorious  brow, 

And  the  gold  hair's  rippling  flow, 
And  the  little  rosy  ear, 
When  I  speak,  so  quick  to  hear, 
And  the  eye's  serenity, 
And  the  sweet  voice,  clear  and  low, 
That  is  speaking  somewhere  now, 
Only  not  to  me! 

2. 

That  is  the  strangest :  somewhere  now 
She  is  speaking ;  well  I  know 


ABSENCE.  281 

How  the  head  is  turned,  and  how 
For  a  moment  she  will  show 

The  little  dimple  when  she  smiles; — 

Only  there  are  miles  and  miles 
Stretched  between  us,  and  I  sigh 
For  the  sweet  voice,  clear  and  low, 

Some  one  must  be  hearing  now. 
Would  that  it  were  I ! 


PROTESILAUS. 

"  \Ti  7" HO  touches  first  the  Trojan  shore  shall 

die!" 

The  oracle  has  said,  and  soon  the  event 
Must  overtake  the  prophecy;  for  now 
Across  the  restless  waters  as  I  look, 
I  see  a  line  of  whiteness  where  the  waves, 
Meet  with  a  murmur  and  recoil  again 
From  what  they  seek  forever.     'Tis  the  shore, 
The  shore  of  Troy,  which  who  first  touches  dies. 

Who  is  he  of  the  Greeks  marked  out  to  die  ? — 
To  fall  thus  on  the  threshold  of  his  fame, 
Denied  the  harvest  of  the  planted  past, 
Held  back  from  following  the  future  years 


rROTESILA  US.  283 

Bright  with  unproven  promises,  so  dear, 
So  Dear  at  any  time,  so  strangely  dear 
To  him  who  sees  them  with  despairing  eyes  ? 
He  loses  all.     Unheard  by  him  the  hosts 
Shall  clash  in  battle  yonder ;  and  at  last 
When  the  glad  cry  of  triumph  shakes  the  air, 
He  shall  not  hear  it;  nor  shall  he  return 
A  hero  with  the  heroes,  full  of  fame ; 
Nor  yet  with  the  unreturning  shall  he  have 
A  place  forever  in  the  glorious  tale. 

Who  would  die  thus  ?     The  most  would  not,  for 

each 

Counting  the  greatness  of  the  loss  yet  waits, 
And  looks  upon  his  neighbour,  saying,  He 
Can  better  go  than  I ;  he  loses  less. 
So  they  stand  still.     And  there  are  some  who  fear 
No  shape  of  death  that  comes  with  clash  of  arms, 
When  they  have  fore-revenged  themselves  by  deeds 


284  PRO  T ESI  LA  US. 

Of  glorious  fight ;  but  to  this  certain  death, 

This  sacrifice,  whose  victim  may  be  stained 

With  no  blood  but  his  own,  they  have  no  will. 

And  there  are  others  -with  us,  some  great  souls 

Who  dare  die  willingly,  not  asking  why 

Nor  how ;  but  these,  because  they  are  so  great, 

With  thought  and  speech  as  well  as  with  the  sword, 

The  present  and  the  after  time  do  need, 

And  they  must  live  that  the  great  cause  may  live. 

And  I  have  left  me  there  in  Thessaly 
The  unfinished  palace,  and  the  one  I  love, 
Laodomia ;  she,  too,  has  a  part 
In  what  I  am.     Her  have  I  left  alone, 
Save  for  the  hope  that  overlooks  the  years 
And  sees  an  end  to  waiting,  hard  to  bear, 
And  me  returning  gladly  to  her  arms. 
For  I,  too,  in  the  present  work  and  live 
As  one  who  does  his  work  in  haste,  that  he 


PROTESILAUS.  285 

The  sooner  may  return  to  those  he  loves; 

Yet  all  the  work  he  has  to  do  he  does. 

And  I  will  do  my  work :  for  this  I  left 

Laodomia  and  my  home;  for  this 

The  Gods  have  made  me  strong  and  great  of  heart. 

This  work,  what  is  it  ?     There  are  men  enough 

To  war  with  Troy  and  right  the  Grecian  wrong, 

Save  for  the  oracle.     For  these  are  brave, 

Although  each  counts  it  loss  to  die  at  once 

Before  his  arm  has  struck  one  blow  at  fame. 

Yet  many  an  one  must  die  before  Troy  fall ; 

And  whether  he  die  first  or  last,  alone 

Or  in  the  rush  and  hurry  of  the  strife, 

What  difference  to  the  true  heroic  heart  ? 

Nay,  then,  I  count  him  happiest  of  all, 

Who  thus  can  gather  up  his  finished  life, 

And  see  the  end  of  it,  that  it  is  well. 

So  is  he  hero  to  himself,  though  stained 

With  no  blood  but  his  own.     And  so  this  task, 

Because  it  seems  so  hard  unto  the  most, 


286  rKOTESILAUS. 

Is  worthy  of  the  soul  that  would  he  great, 
Marking  its  greatness  by  itself. 

But  she  ?— 

How  altogether  fall  the  heavy  oars ! 
For  each  one  does  the  work  he  has  to  do  ; 
How  the  sails  swell  and  strain  before  the  wind 
That  blows  us  onward  o'er  the  uneven  sea! 
The  sharp  prow  hurries  through  the  parting  wave, 
And  we  go  proudly  leading  all  the  rest 
That  seek  the  shore  of  Troy. 

So  be  it  then  ! 

And  you,  Laodomia  and  my  home, 
Farewell !     Farewell !     /  am  the  one  to  die ! 


MARGARET. 

~\  T  7  ELL  enough  I  bear  it  now, 

While  the  Winter  lingers  yet, 

Hiding  all  the  fields  with  snow, — 

Fields  in  which  we  walked,  you  know, 

Not  so  very  long  ago, 
Margaret ! 

While  the  skies  are  seldom  clear, 
And  the  winds  are  wild  and  rough, 

While  no  song-bird  dares  appear, 

And  the  trees  are  bare  as  yet, 
I  can  bear  it  well  enough, 
Margaret. 


288  MARGARET. 

Well  enough !     I  do  my  best 

To  remember  only  yet 
What  you  were,  and  pass  the  rest, 
Taking  only  for  a  test 
That  you  once  have  made  me  blest, 
Margaret ! 

Saying  to  myself,  as  I 

See  the  weary  waste  of  snow, 
And  the  clouds  about  the  sky, — 
Fields  and  skies  keep  hidden  yet, 
Why  not  she  ?  'tis  winter  now, 
Margaret ! 

Ah !  but  when  Spring  skies  are  blue 

As  the  lost  ones  I  regret, 
When  the  trees,  and  song-birds,  too, 
Call  me  to  the  fields  anew, 
What,  then,  shall  I  think  of  you, 
Margaret  ? 


MARGARET.  289 

Would  the  fields  might  never  change, 

Nor  the  skies  again  be  blue, 
So  I  might  not  think  it  strange 
That  you  never  come!  And  yet, 

'Tis  too  lonely  without  you, 
Margaret ! 


MADONNA. 

T    HAVE  seen  her  again  to-day, 

With  the  pale  gold  hair,  and  the  eyes 
Where  the  light  of  the  sunset  lay, 
As  it  slipped  from  the  open  skies. 

And  the  same  still  smile  she  wore, 
That  in  heaven  can  hardly  change, 

Save  to  brighter,  perhaps,  than  before, 
As  it  ceases  at  last  to  be  strange. 

Yes,  I  saw  her  again,  and  am  strong — 
Strong  to  love  and  be  true  to  the  strife 

Of  my  soul,  that  attempts  to  prolong 
Its  best  moment,  and  make  it  a  life, 


MADONNA.  291 

Like  to  hers  whom  I  love  with  my  soul, 

Though  my  love  must  be  never  made  known, 

Till  the  long  journey  ends  at  the  goal, 
Which  for  her  sake  I  seek  all  alone. 

All  alone,  but  with  joy,  for  I  know 
That  'tis  better  to  climb  for  her  love, 

And  to  spend  a  whole  life  loving  so, 

Than  that  she  should  stoop  once  from  above. 

'Tis  enough  for  this  life  of  a  day 

That  I  love  her,  and  say  not  a  word, 

But  live  like  her,  as  like  as  I  may, 

Till  the  time  comes  at  last  to  be  heard ; 

When  I  meet  her  in  heaven,  that  is, 
And  she  smiles  as  I  say  to  her,  Dear, 

How  I  loved  you  on  earth,  know  from  this, 
That  I  loved  you,  and  followed  you  here. 


MOONLIGHT. 

"  "XT  AY,  wait  me  here — I'll  not  be  long; 

Tis  but  a  little  way ; 
I'll  come  ere  you  have  sung  the  song 
I  made  you  yesterday. 

"  'Tis  but  to  cross  yon  streak  of  light, — 
And  fresh  the  breezes  blow ; 

You  will  not  lose  me  from  your  sight — 
One  kiss,  and  now  I  go." 

So,  in  the  pleasant  night  of  June, 

He  lightly  sails  away, 
To  where  the  glimmer  of  the  moon 

Lies  right  athwart  the  bay. 


MOONLIGHT.  293 

And  she  sits  singing  on  the  shore 

A  song  of  pure  delight ; 
The  boat  flies  on — a  little  more, 

And  he  will  cross  the  light. 

The  boat  flies  on,  the  song  is  done, 
The  light  before  him  gleams ; 

A  little  more,' and  he  has  won  : 
Tis  farther  than  it  seems. 

The  boat  flies  on,  the  boat  flies  fast ; 

The  wind  blows  strong  and  free ; 
The  boat  flies  on,  the  bay  is  past, 

He  sails  into  the  sea. 

And  on,  and  on,  and  ever  on, 

The  light  lies  just  before ; 
But  ah,  fore  verm  ore  is  done 

The  song  upon  the  shore  ! 


AT  SEA. 


i. 

TT  THITHER  we  sail,  who  knows? 

But  still  the  yearning  grows, 
And  still  the  eager  ear 
Some  promise  seems  to  hear 

In  every  wind  that  blows. 


2. 

And  nowhere  can  we  find, 

We  of  the  restless  mind, 
An  answering  joy  to  pain, 
Save  where  the  broad  sails  strain 

Before  the  rising  wind ; 


AT  SEA.  295 

3- 

Save  where  the  flying  spray 
The  fever  of  delay 

Cools  from  the  heated  face, 

Bent  forward  in  the  chase 
Somewhither  day  by  day ; — 

4; 

Save  where  we  still  can  feel 
The  sea  beneath  us  reel 

With  longing  pain  and  strife, 

True  to  the  dream  of  life 
Which  is  its  woe  and  weal ; — 

5- 

Save  where  the  clouds  that  range 
The  boundless  sky,  and  change 

With  every  breath  of  air, 

Yet  ever  calm  and  fair, 
Give  comfort,  true  and  strange ; 


206  AT  SEA. 

6. 

Save  where  the  storms  we  meet 

Are  Nature's,  that  defeat 

Fear's  sloth,  and  make  more  clear 
And  pure  the  atmosphere, 

To  keep  our  purpose  sweet ; — 

7- 

Save  where  our  very  sleep 
A  motion  still  doth  keep, 
That  lets  us  ne'er  forget 
The  dream  which  lures  us  yet 
To  follow  through  the  deep ; 

8. 

That  dream  which,  when  the  dull, 
Cold,  heavy  storm,  too  full 

Of  doubts  and  darkness,  passed, 

In  the  sunlight  at  last 
Rose  glistening,  beautiful. 


AT  SEA.  297 


9- 

O  dream  of  what  shall  be ! 

Born  of  the  restless  sea, 
And  floating  high  between 
That  and  the  sky's  serene, 

Far-off  immunity : 

10. 

Something  of  both  must  rise 
In  every  soul  that  tries 
To  keep  thee  still  in  sight, 
So  hard  to  love  aright, 
Harder  to  realize ! 

ii. 

And  long  the  way,  indeed! 
But  why  should  we  be  freed 

Before  we  know  it  all  ? 

Whatever  else  befall, 
The  hope  is  what  we  need : 


298  AT  SEA. 

12. 

And  still  the  pain  obeys 
The  longing  that  allays, 

And  shapes  it  to  its  end; 

To  make,  when  both  shall  blend, 
A  hope  that  ne'er  betrays  : 


Still  we  can  keep  the  chase, 
Led  by  that  shape  of  grace  ; 
Still  strive,  and  strive  again, 
Hoping,  we  know  not  when, 
To  see  her  face  to  face. 

14. 

What  else  ?     Ah,  yes  !  we  know 
That  we  are  sailing,  now, 

That  sea  where  many  a  brave, 
True  heart  has  found  its  grave, 
But  still  we  choose  to  go. 


A  T  SEA. 

IS- 

Nay,  must !     How  shall  we  dare 

To  leave  them  lying  there 

•    Unanswered,  each  brave  heart 

That  dared  and  did  his  part, 
And  died  without  despair  ? 

16. 

All,  all  the  more  may  we 

Trust  the  old  prophecy, 
And  sail,  still  singing  thus 
The  old  song  sent  to  us 

Along  the  stormy  sea  ! 


299 


THE   GOOD   PURSUIT. 

i. 

T    DREAM  of  the  time  when  she 
Whom  I  follow  and  dimly  see, 
And  love  still  more  and  more 
As  ever  she  flies  before, 
True  leader  and  guide  to  me : 

2. 

I  dream  of  the  time  when  she 
Shall  be  clearly  seen  by  me, 
Still  flying,  the  beautiful  one, 
Still  leading  me  on  and  on 
To  the  lands  which  poets  see. 


THE  GOOD  PURSUIT.  30  r 

3- 

I  dream  of  the  time  when  she 

Shall  be  won  at  last  by  me, 

At  the  edge  of  the  promised  land, 
Which  we  enter  hand  in  hand. 

And  I  dream  of  what  shall  be. 

4- 

Meanwhile,  'tis  a  joy  but  to  see 

The  white  robe  beckoning  me  ; 

Time  enough  for  a  sight  of  the  face, 
When  I  prove  myself  true  to  the  chase, 

And  am  what  she  persuades  me  to  be. 


A   ROSE. 

i. 
\T  7 HO  but  knows 

Nought  reprieves 
From  decay 
Once  begun  ? 
One  by  one, 
See  the  leaves 
Of  my  rose 
Fall  away ! 

2. 

Fall  the  rest ! 
Was  it  I, 

Long  ago, 
Dared  to  say : 


A  ROSE.  303 

In  a  day 
It  shall  lie 

On  a  breast 

That  I  know  ? 

3- 

Tis  a  thing, 
At  the  best, 

For  her  scorn  ; 
Ere  she  knows, 
Hide  it  close; 
Save  her  breast 

From  the  sting 

Of  the  thorn! 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS3157   .W8p 

y 


L  009  617  392  7 


,Y£  S.?U.™.ER!i  P  PJONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  227  991    5 


